


Daughter of the Circle

by ElynnaAmell



Series: The Circle and The Sword [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 35,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElynnaAmell/pseuds/ElynnaAmell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elynna Amell's childhood at the Circle of Magi, from 9:12 Dragon to 9:30 Dragon. Mostly, but not exclusively, fluff.</p><p>As with all parts of the Circle and the Sword Series, everything is a WIP. To further clarify that: I don't write things in order and there very well could be sentences that end mid-thought... It's all very choppy, so bear that in mind as you read. If you're following the series/ this work also note that I will more than likely be adding more chapters to the middle of the work.</p><p>If you've come here from the new version of "A Warden of the Circle" you might want to take this with a grain of salt. A lot of the stuff here was amongst my first forays into fanfiction and needs A LOT of work...</p><p>With that said, this work is largely episodic, so don't let any of that hinder you if you want to dive in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Take Me From a Life of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> New: The Prologue
> 
> Update as of 6/3/15:  
> Beggining the process of editing this work to integrate the new lore from The World of Thedas Vol. II, which actually has impacted this in a big way just from the small bits and pieces on Revka.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starkhaven Circle of Magi 9:15 Dragon

The crumpled bed linens and lounging young men, the complete lack of any sort of discipline, would have never been allowed at Wildervale Monastery James thought briefly. A wave of melancholy gripped him as he bleakly thought that now not even he would never be welcome back there, amongst his brothers. Less than three days ago the world was his, though he hadn’t known it. That day he’d moaned about having to learn history and memorize the Chant and had leapt joyously to sword practice with the other initiates. He played pranks and wolfed down food and traded tales of the knights of their order, just like any other day.

There was a nightmarish quality to that night that he’d never forget. His dreams had gripped him with a terror he’d never known and suddenly he found himself hauled out of bed. Knight-Captain Reyna Trevelyan and Ser Terric Othras hauled him out of his bed bodily. A flash of light and nausea consumed his world as he was blearily awakened. The look Reyna had given him was pure disgust, a look that had cut him to the bone. 

The day he had arrived, nine years of age, his father’s second-cousin had been welcoming and gracious. She’d never been anything less and periodically had checked up on him; having family in this new place had made the adjustment simple. Had made his dream of becoming a Templar much easier. He craved Reyna’s approval as much as he ever had his father’s. That look, he knew, meant he’d never have it again.

Terric had bound his hands and feet and put him on his horse, Nightwind. James had been eagerly awaiting their horsemanship lessons and now wanted nothing to do with the black charger. The ride had been long and uncomfortable: Terric uttered not one word as the cold rains of the Marcher winter bore down on the two. After a few hours James gave up on trying to engage his former mentor, focusing on keeping his muscles from cramping up, bound and drenched as he was.

With the dawn’s light came Fyruss’ Crossing, the sole bridge that spanned the great Minanter River between Tantervale and Starkhaven. James was startled awake as the dull thud of Nightwind’s steady trot on the dirt roads became a sharp clack clack clack as the horse sped across the great bridge. Terric himself had once taught James that long ago in the Glory Age Prince Fyruss had ordered the Circles of Starkhaven, Tantervale and Hasmal to construct a bridge that spanned the five-mile wide chasm, one of the greatest works of magical engineering beyond the Tevinter Imperium. Glittering white in the sun, the greyish half-light of the rainy morning had seemingly stained the bridge a grim grey to James’ eyes.

The rest of the ride had been east along the Minanter canyon, towards Starkhaven where the landscape began to meet the river. The city was visible from afar, the seat of the Vaels, one of the most powerful Marcher families and close cousins to the Trevelyans. James’ previous visit to Starkhaven had been to visit the Prince’s palace and the Cathedral and to the nobles’ market in White Square where the statue of Amadis Vael loomed over all in attendance. Mother had carried Elynna, not much more than an infant, while he had run and played with his brothers, their father’s stern voice keeping them from straying too far. The Vael boys had been their eager compatriots that day: none of the young boys were interested in the discussions of their parents, the marriage arrangements being made. They were all informed of it later that night, however, but it was merely another thing that barely seemed relevant to the world of the young boys; their little sister’s betrothal to the heir of Starkhaven’s heir wasn’t something that concerned them.

He’d likely never see that statue of Amadis Vael for years; all those places and memories lay on the opposite bank of the river. Quickly rising to meet them along the path was their true destination: the Circle of Magi. James had been born into nobility, schooled as a Templar initiate and now he was to be a mage, despised by both groups. The last mundane child of Revka Amell and Carolus Trevelyan had come into his powers.

Sitting on his bed in the apprentice boys’ dormitory he let those memories wash over him, distancing himself from the self-loathing he felt. Until Terric had handed him over to First Enchanter Raddick, it hadn’t been real. It could have all been a mistake. He could have still been the only one of his siblings who was redeemable in their father’s eyes. Now he was just as all the others, just like Elynna, Daylen, Kalven and Garren: cast out and unwanted. Knight-Commander Mira, his father’s elder sister, had made that abundantly clear while the First Enchanter drew his blood for his phylactery.

He had been so young when it had all begun, but he could remember the uprorar his aunt Leandra had caused. Uncle Aristide had somehow managed to minimize the damage done by her deed, her lover’s identity as a mage was hidden for years. The broken engagement to the Comte de Launcet was painted as some sort of romantic story and the House’s reputation was able to weather it, the true scandal buried. Aunt Bethann would pass away the year after Elynna was born, Uncle Aristide succumbing to the cholera in the following year. It had been a sad time, but such things happened.

The nursery fire had seen the fortunes of the junior branch of House Amell begin to turn. Father had rushed in and quenched the flames, looking every inch the vengeful Templar ready to defend his children. But the flames weren’t from some demon, or rogue apostate: impossibly it had been his sweet two-year old sister. As the flames went out, she awoke crying for Mother and Daylen went to comfort her, though Father wouldn’t allow it, a strange look on his face. The four of them had been taken aside by their mother and put to bed in their parents’ chambers while Father, Elynna, Grandfather Uncle Gamlen, and Uncle Damien met with Uncle Aristide around his sickbed.

The follow morning he’d awoke disoriented and surrounded by his brothers: he kicked Daylen off of him though his elder brother barely noticed. Their mother sleeping in a chair nearby, her face stained with tear tracks. His father and Elynna were gone and no one had been willing to speak about it. Uncle Gamlen had left the estate angry, though that was hardly unusual. The incident was meant to be swept under the rug and forgotten, much as with the details surrounding Leandra’s disownment. Elynna was young enough that some sort of childhood illness could be used to fake her death, though the details would come to light sooner than anyone had expected. He never learned what actually became of his baby sister, and the emotions his elders were emitting suggested that perhaps he did not want to know.

Grandfather had been summoned before the Viscount a few days after Father had left with Elynna. Aristide’s illness had left his younger brother as head of the house, though Fausten seemed to be wasting away alongside his brother. Revka had convinced her father to take his eldest two grandsons along to help him, a decision that they all came to regret. 

James could no longer recall the details, though it hardly mattered. Chivalry Threnhold was very clearly taking advantage of Fausten’s weakened state and bullied the old man ceaselessly. Daylen, a mere ten years old, snapped at the viscount and defended his grandfather. The city guard soon stepped in and a scene erupted. In the blink of an eye, however, the guard froze in truth as a wave of ice magic coated the room. He remembered Grandfather hugging him close, a mix of sorrow and fear warring on his features as he realized that his eldest grandchild would be taken away. Knight-Commander Guylian dispelled the magic and broke the shock and silence, taking Daylen by the arm. Across the room James saw that stoic look on Dayl’s face that he knew so well, his brother’s emerald green eyes flashing, refusing to show fear.

Fausten had pleaded with the Knight Commander outside the Viscount’s Keep. That Daylen would be taken to the Gallows was a given, but he could be given a final supervised goodbye to the rest of the family.

Revka had been inconsolable, kneeling in the streets keening for her children taken by the Circle, Daylen and Elynna both. That image had locked itself in James’ mind and he wondered if his mother would weep for him now, locked away in a tower like all her other children. Not that she had ever seen Kelven and Garren taken either.

It had taken mere days for word to reach Bann Trevelyan in Ostwick, and for him to respond with a decisive solution to House Trevelyan’s Amell problems. Carolus was to annul his marriage immediately and return to Ostwick with his remaining children, who would henceforth be considered bastards and later given to the Chantry and Templars. Bann Trevelyan had also strongly suggested that for the sake of House Amell’s own good that Revka be quietly given to the Chantry to atone as a sister. Roderic may have only been a Bann, but his words carried far too much weight for Fausten to ignore. 

The instructions were followed to the letter, dividing the family and bringing the Amell boys to Ostwick. Bann Trevelyan had been especially chagrined to learn that Carolus’ daughter was also a mage rather than dead. Carolus had been reassigned to the Templar chapter in Ostwick, the three young boys would be given to the Chantry as they each reached their tenth year.

James spent less than a year at Trevelyan manor, serving his father’s relatives as a page, before he made ready to leave for Wildervale Monastery, his father given the privilege of taking his second son to the place where he himself had trained. History began to repeat itself in the months prior to his departure, however. Kelven and Garren were both found to be mages: Kelven was brought to Ostwick and Garren would be sent far from the Free Marches, to Montsimmard.

Father never mentioned any of the others after they were taken. They were worse than dead to him. James may have been a bastard but after his siblings were taken he was Carolus’ only son and somewhat dear to his father. James bit his lip fighting back tears. The man had hardly ever shown affection for any of his children or his wife, so the gruff farewell hug the man had given him and admonishment to behave when he was left at the Monastery had tided James over for the last two years. Now, if his father ever saw him, James would just be another stranger to him. For some reason that cut deeper than the day he said goodbye to his mother, never to see her again.

James’ sulking was interrupted by the approach of another boy. He looked Rivaini, with clear hazel eyes. He offered his hand to James, smiling. James hesitated, but took it. He had nothing to gain by being difficult, even if the boy was a mage. He mentally chided himself: he himself was now one of them.

Unaware of James’ inner struggle the boy went on, “I’m Alain. Welcome to the Starkhaven Circle. We all wanted to give you some time to adjust, but Knight Commander Mira wants everyone to head to the hall for dinner, so I wanted to introduce myself… So you don’t have to feel like you have to sit alone.”

James unsteadily returned Alain’s smile and followed the boy out of the dormitory, mindful of the stares from the other boys, and then the whispers of the girls as he entered the hall. Several greeted Alain and introduced themselves to James as they walked. Some of the camaraderie he’d known amongst the Templar initiates was recalled in the easy banter of the mage youths. Perhaps he could bear this after all; there was no other choice.


	2. The Least of His Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:12 Dragon

Eleven years after Rhys’ birth, on a grey, rainy and depressing day, a rather harried young apprentice chose a very bad moment to interrupt the current lyrium supply argument between Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving. This resulted in rendering the boy momentarily mute due to the collective angry glares from his superiors.

“Well, what IS it boy? Spit it out!” The aging Knight-Commander was not feeling particularly patient this morning.

“Well… uh… There’s a man here… Saying he needs to speak to the First Enchanter, as he has a young mage he… needs to get rid of.” The boy was clearly upset with repeating that last statement verbatim and to a certain degree it served to cool the tempers of both Irving and Greagoir, though this was not normally a task worthy of their attention.

“Godwin, why didn’t you simply see if Uldred or Wynne would handle this? You know better than to interrupt us.” Irving said kindly, as he was regretting allowing Greagoir to address Godwin: the lad was shy enough without allowing every last apprentice’s worst nightmare- the wrath of the Knight-Commander- to come to fruition.

“Uldred told me to bring this to your attention…” At this point the boy’s instincts got the better of him and he fled back to the apprentice quarters rather than adhere to simple decorum.

“Maker’s breath that boy is flighty. Well, we may as well go see who this apprentice-to-be is, if Uldred thought it worthy of your attention, Irving.”

Irving collected himself and accompanied Greagoir, wishing that the Knight-Commander would simply return to his duties rather than acting as the First Enchanter’s adjunct- and treating him like it was the other way round! The new apprentice was likely as frightened as they all usually were; six and seven year olds who suddenly found themselves practicing magic and thrown out of their own families, out of the only life they knew. Compounding those feelings by being greeted by the gruff Knight-Commander was only likely to make things worse, but it seemed like this apprentice was about to go through hell. Only last week Greagoir had scared young Niall silly when collecting his blood for his phylactery… The poor boy clung to Wynne since then and avoided all the Templars like the plague.

However, a rather unusual sight awaited Irving and Greagoir in the entrance hall of the tower. Uldred waited impatiently, while Wynne argued with a man who was clearly of the nobility. Oddly, however, his clothes and accent marked him as from the Free Marches, Kirkwall in particular. He had an air of disdain about him and was trying to hand what looked like a toddler girl-child to Wynne.

“…By the Maker! Have you no simple shred of decency man! This is your own daughter! There is a good reason for the apprentices being aged six or seven when they first come to the tower! And aside from that, why didn’t you approach the Kirkwall tower with her? Why come to Kinloch Hold?”

“I simply adhere to the chantry’s teachings in this matter. Mage-children are to go to the Circles; otherwise they are apostates. Lord Aristide cannot afford to have a mage-niece; he can less afford to have an apostate in his household or in Kirkwall for that matter. This thing,” indicating his daughter, “has caused enough of a problem and may well spell disaster for House Amell; other solutions were considered, but her mother wanted the child to live. So here I am, and here is your newest apprentice.” At this final sentence he gave the girl into Wynne’s arms and left the tower, leaving a very shocked group of mages and Templars in his wake.

“This is… unheard of.” Greagoir said at last, breaking the silence. Irving strode forward and took the girl from Wynne. Irving gasped and Greagoir became livid when they saw her face.

She didn’t make eye contact with any of those assembled and it was quite clear why. Her pale skin was marred by a host of dark, ugly bruises and welts. Her lip was split and one eye was swollen. Under the beating she’d received were also fresh tattoo markings: it was a common practice to mark mages in the Free Marches, particularly in Starkhaven and Kirkwall, so that they stood out the way the Casteless in Orzammar did. Hers were a rather shocking shade of blue and resembled Alamarri knots. Irving handled her gently, not entirely certain that she was only injured on her face.

Greagoir once again grappled with old ghosts and had halfway convinced himself that getting into an altercation with a nobleman—who was likely halfway across Lake Calenhad by now—was an exercise in futility. But then the child made eye contact with Greagoir: her bright green eyes seemed to plead with him and so he gave into instincts. Storming out of the Tower, Greagoir managed to catch the noble before Kester cast off.

Down at the docks Kester held his tongue as he helped the noble board his boat. When he rowed him over it was clear that he detested the child, and had been the one to mark her. Kester had five children of his own and at that age all of them had enjoyed riding in the ferry, always looking over the edge and trying to get a hand in the water. The little girl had been in so much pain that she had simply stared at the deck the whole way, completely listless. Kester sighed and made ready to untie the boat when he saw a rather notable Templar briskly making his way towards the docks. Greagoir’s normally grim expression had been replaced by one of contained rage. 

Kester whistled, “I truly wouldn’t want to be you right now, no sir. The Knight-Commander, he’s usually a cold sort. Polite and short, is Greagoir’s way. Only thing what gets ‘im riled up is those that beat women and children… And if you didn’t put those marks on that sweet child you brought here, then I’m the Queen of Antiva.”

“Get the boat off the docks then, man! I’ve little time for this.” The noble all but snarled at Kester. The ferryman just snorted and tied the boat off, hauling the man out and greeting Greagoir.

Greagoir managed a polite nod to Kester and motioned for the man to head up the walk to the Tower; this was justice, not a spectacle. His usual demeanor fell apart when he turned to face the child’s father. Greagoir had soon tossed off his gauntlets and breastplate and stared down the fop with a snarl. Greagoir was almost pained to notice that the man opposite him had the same piercing green eyes as the girl.

“Is she your daughter?” Greagoir was certain of the answer, but he wanted to hear from him before he began.

“Her mother’s my wife… Though clearly Amell honor is worth less than nothing in Kirkwall… Slut of a woman likely was bedded by the mage her cousin was after… No mages in my family, and I’ll not claim another man’s leavings. Why concern yourself Templar? This isn’t the sort of thing that would have ruffled feathers at the Gallows… Knight Commander Meredith Stannard would perhaps find it odd that you take interest in a mage child…”

Greagoir’s nostrils flared. That this… creature… had threatened him had only stoked his anger. The Knight Commander finally let loose and punched the noble in the gut, double him over and knocking him back a few paces.

Greagoir hauled the gasping man up by his collar and clearly recited from the Canticle of Transfigurations through clenched teeth, “All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands, From the lowest slaves, To the highest kings. Those who bring harm Without provocation to the least of His children. Are hated and accursed by the Maker. It is not for you to judge the child… And the protection of mages deeply concerns the Templars.” Some primal part of the Templar was satisfied with the fear and hate he saw mixed in the noble’s eyes as he held him above the ground, knuckles white. The satisfaction only increased when he noticed that the man had pissed himself. Yet killing him was not an option, not for the Knight Commander of Kinloch Hold. Not if he wanted to remain free of the Seekers.

“Harm another mage, another woman, another child, and I’ll come for you.” Greagoir decided that he could afford a bit of childishness, if only to tell the little girl later. He took the noble and promptly threw him in the lake, turning back to the Tower. If he couldn’t swim, well that was between him and the Maker at this point, wasn’t it?

Greagoir passed Kester who was hiding a grin as he headed back down to the docks. The Templar nodded pleasantly, as if nothing untoward had just occurred. The door Templars saluted him smartly and readmitted him. When Greagoir entered it was as if time had stopped when he’d left. Uldred still waited impatiently while Irving held the child, attempting to hold her attention with silly faces as Wynne examined and healed her. Based on her giggling, Irving had succeeded. As Greagoir looked at the girl the transformation seemed amazing: moments before she looked so very delicate, as if a breath of wind would worsen her poor state. Now she had a thumb jammed in her mouth, skin unblemished except for the blue tattoos. Greagoir’s relief was palpable as he took the child from Irving and held her.

“Your safe here little one. I promise no one will hurt you again.” She had been watching him with round eyes, but seemed to believe him. She cuddled against his chest and Greagoir held her more closely. Belatedly he realized that his armor was still scattered outside, but was glad of his oversight for the moment. The little girl had begun to fill a void he’d forgotten; for years he’d imagined raising his son, but had increasingly let go of that reality that could never be. Just holding her made him want to do all in his power to uphold his word, to see a smile on her face and never again those ugly marks.

With a great deal of regret he handed her back to Irving, as the mages had begun to raise eyebrows at him. Irving had pity in his eyes and the glare Wynne reserved for him had also softened. Uldred was unreadable as usual, and Greagoir coolly returned the taciturn mage’s look. Suddenly Irving chuckled, drawing the attention back to himself. He was looking at the girl and laughing as he spoke.

“What is your name child?” Wynne and Greagoir looked slightly abashed at not finding that out; Uldred just seemed uncomfortable and a touch bored with the entire situation.

“Elynna. You?” Elynna Amell looked up at Irving, apparently unfazed by her new surrounds.

“I am First-Enchanter Irving, little one. Welcome to the Circle of Magi. This is Wynne, the scary looking man is Knight-Commander Greagoir, and that is Uldred.”

Elynna looked wide-eyed at every one, and then rather determinedly repeated, “Erring, Wynne, Greyer, scary man.”

Greagoir chuckled at that, startling the Templars guarding the door momentarily; Wynne and Irving were each surprised to see the better half of their old friend’s temperament flicker so boldly on his countenance again. He walked up to Irving and Elynna, “No, no child. I believe Irving referred to me as the ‘scary man,’; over there is Uldred.”

Elynna shook her head at that, pointing at Greagoir she noted, “Greyer. Not scary,” and frowning at Uldred, “Scary man.”

Irving shrugged apologetically at Uldred, who was not particularly bothered and noted that he must attend to his work. Wynne too left, stating she needed to check on her apprentices, leaving Elynna with Greagoir and Irving.


	3. Before Dawn's First Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:12 Dragon

A bed was made in the apprentice quarters for Elynna, but the older children soon voiced their disapproval of having to share a dormitory with “a baby.” Wynne requested that Niall look after her, as they were both the newest apprentices. While Elynna was generally quiet and well-behaved, her shadowing of Niall caused the older children to shun him, which resulted in Niall attempting to lose Elynna at every opportunity.

Soon Elynna was generally forgotten. Having overheard the older children share tales of darkspawn and the First Blight, however, Elynna began to wander at night, driven by a child’s fear of the dark. She attempted to find Wynne as the woman would often look in on her when Niall was watching her, but when she made her way to the senior mage quarters, Elynna became lost. She curled up in a ball and cried; she was a heart-wrenching sight, a lost, scared and lonely two-year old.

“What in the world… Elynna, how did you get up here?” Elynna had been fortunate enough to get lost outside the First Enchanter’s room. Irving picked her up and held her; Elynna clung to him fiercely.

“ ’Urlocks an’ werewolves an’ an’ Niall leaves me an’” She was crying and hiccupping into Irving’s shoulder. He knew there would be a new set of difficulties with a two-year old apprentice, but no one had any real solution- to Elynna’s detriment. If she was allowed to grow up like this Irving didn’t doubt that she wouldn’t be strong enough to face her Harrowing. He’d have condemned her to Tranquility or execution, and looking at the upset girl he knew that no one could be so heartless as to allow this to continue.

“Alright child, calm down. There are no Hurlocks in the tower, whatever the other apprentices said. Nor are there werewolves. As for Niall… I will look after you from now on. We made a mistake in asking a six year old to look after you; I am sorry.” Elynna’s fit began to subside. She sucked her thumb and rested her head on Irving’s shoulder. Irving sighed, thinking this would be a long four years. He tucked her into his bed and went down to the apprentice quarters to have words with Niall and the others- mainly about hurlocks, werewolves and simple kindness.

****

The next morning Greagoir made his way up to Irving’s study, a new argument about how much freedom of the grounds the apprentices were to be allowed was brewing in his mind. The scene when he reached Irving’s study, however, made him quite forget why he was there. Young Elynna was on the floor in front of Irving’s desk, calmly conjuring snow and making what looked to be snow-soldiers out of the result. Irving was not seated at his desk; the First Enchanter had clearly eschewed decorum to play with his charge, as he was seated on the floor and had his own set of snow soldiers facing hers.

Elynna noticed Greagoir and called to him happily, “Greyer! I’m the Grey Wardens. Erring is the Darkspawn. That’s the Dragon!” She pointed to Irving’s rather well carved rendition of Dumat, the first Archdemon. Greagoir couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

“Oh, and are the Wardens winning?” he asked.

“Yup! Oooooooo! Erring, can Greyer play too? He can be the Templars!” Elynna looked imploring at both the older men.

“Well, why not? I’m sure Greagoir needs to talk with me anyhow… we can fight each other down here just as well as at my desk, I suppose.”

“Irving, this is highly irregular…” Greagoir caught a glance of Elynna’s face and decided to give in and discuss the apprentices while battling darkspawn; Elynna made all of his Templars for him. Surprisingly, Greagoir was rather generous in allowing the apprentices freedom of the grounds, the small mageling having softened his heart quite a bit.

With a twinge of regret Greagoir noted he must return to his duties. Before he was able to rise to leave, Elynna jumped up and hugged Greagoir, gave him a kiss, and said goodbye. Irving laughed at the look on Greagoir’s face; the Knight-Commander, a fearsome, gruff old warrior was successfully ambushed by a two-year old as he returned the hug, kissed her on the forehead and said goodbye as he rose and set the girl down.


	4. Rest at the Maker's Right Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:12 Dragon

Elynna flinched and whimpered as the cool salve was applied to her face. Her pale skin was an angry red: unused to the sun, the merest exposure had burnt the mageling. Wynne was gentle as she treated the girl, who was tired, yet managed to chatter about what she did while out on the grounds. The young girl’s delightful enthusiasm was infectious, and Wynne found herself smiling, somewhat against her will, as Elynna talked about her new favorite playmate, “Greyer.”

While Elynna was in the midst of wheedling a promise out of Wynne to visit the herb garden, Irving came to collect the little girl. Elynna wriggled in Wynne’s arms and reached out to the First Enchanter, eliciting laughs from both of the mages. Wynne watched her old friend with his young charge and was rather pleased to see the closeness between them. 

Irving had always been somewhat less than respectable and Wynne had worried about how he would deal with a little girl. His responsibilities as First Enchanter had curbed his roguish ways, however, and it seemed that the girl was bringing out a far more settled facet of the man as well. The Senior Enchanter watched Irving positively melt as Elynna placed a kiss on his cheek, giggling.

“Fatherhood, or whatever it is, seems to become you Irving. I’m certainly babysitting you less,” Wynne playfully joked with him.

“Greagoir has taken it upon himself to pick up your slack, it seems… The old fool is like a brother to me, but a man needs his space… Especially if some likely ladies were to come calling.” Irving waggled his eyebrows at Wynne suggestively, but she just rolled her eyes.

“Some things never change… Leastways not your attitude. In terms of ladies, I suspect that Elynna and I are the only women who will be calling on you, you old lecher.”

Irving rather obviously ran his eyes over Wynne from head to toe; the Senior Enchanter resisted an urge to punch him in the shoulder. He read the intent in her eyes and simply laughed and kissed Elynna, who had been busily spoiling the aura he was trying to emit, as she tugged at his beard. Irving winced, smoothed his beard and grabbed Elynna’s hand.

“Well, if you two beautiful ladies and that hulking ogre of a Knight Commander are the only company this poor old man can keep, then I count myself lucky.” Irving leaned forward and kissed Wynne on the cheek, slipping his free arm about her waist. She put her arms around Irving as well, soon turning her attention to Elynna, who was quietly resting against Irving’s chest. The three stood in a comfortable, companionable silence for a moment.

Irving looked up towards the doorway as the clank of armor drew his attention. Greagoir was passing by and looked in on the three of them. His eyes were soon riveted on Wynne and Irving saw the old Templar’s battered heart begin to bleed. The First Enchanter stepped away from Wynne, mumbling a hurried goodbye to her. Initially the older woman was confused, and turned to the doorway, looking Greagoir in the eye. She pursed her lips and adopted a stony expression, wordlessly turning back to the work she had been doing before she treated Elynna.

As usual Elynna seemed especially sensitive to the tangle of emotions in the air and whispered to Irving. Irving smiled when he heard the girl’s request and handed her to Greagoir, asking the Templar to walk with him. Greagoir nodded almost perfunctorily and soon snapped back into his dour demeanor, the pain and hurt which had made him look lost and boyish erased as if it had never been. As if he was made of stone. Though if Elynna had her way, she’d find the cracks in the rock.

The little girl was making all manner of bizarre and rude faces at the Knight Commander. Irving watched as Greagoir’s brow furrowed and the corners of his lips twitched. His deep, rumbling laugh soon echoed through the corridors as he hugged the little girl tight. Elynna squirmed, frowning pointedly at his plate armor.

“Sorry lass, I have to wear it.”


	5. WIP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denerim 9:13 Dragon

Once a year the Knight Commander was required to journey to Denerim to speak with the Grand Cleric and bring back Templars to the Tower, usually a mix of recruits and a handful of young trainees who needed to see a Harrowing before they took their vows.

Greagoir also made a habit of checking up on the formari tranquil who ran The Wonders of Thedas. He deeply pitied those who chose that Rite, but a small part of his mind always sighed in relief when the obviously weaker mages chose tranquility: it was one less death on his hands. While they were technically not bound to the Circle, they felt utterly dependent on the life they used to know, and so the Knight Commander counted these poor souls among his charges.

“Welcome to the Wonders of Thedas, Knight Commander Greagoir. Is there anything you would like to see?”

Calvin asked him the same thing year after year. And each year Greagoir wondered if the spark that was in him as a boy would ever return to his vacant eyes.

“I’m just going to look around, Calvin.” The Tranquil nodded and return to straightening bottles of healing potions up on the shelves. Greagoir absentmindedly looked at a bottle, turning it over for the healer’s mark at the bottom. He’d grabbed one that Wynne had crafted. It was inevitable for him it seemed. He sighed and put it down, walking around the store.

The Wonders of Thedas technically carried goods crafted by the Circle. Generally these included enchanted artifacts, clothing, and weapons which fetched high prices. Potions were generally what kept the shop running, as most people could afford and needed those. The store also included a good deal of miscellany, however, as many of the Tranquil and not a few of the mages had hobbies that resulted in a steady flow of trinkets to the shop, such as miniature golem dolls and other toys for children.

This was the section Greagoir found himself in. Generally he’d never paid it any mind before, but now he couldn’t help but think of the little girl who had wormed her way into his heart. Greagoir picked up a plush toy Mabari and the beginnings of a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, thinking that the girl would likely love the dog as opposed to a doll. Elynna was not a doll sort of girl after all. And as she’d been pretending to be a Grey Warden recently, well, a faithful Mabari would certainly add something to her rather adorable attempts to vanquish darkspawn.


	6. The Word Dispels the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:13 Dragon

Pouring himself a glass of Rivain red, Greagoir sat in the armchair in his rooms, attempting to decompress after the long day. Reflecting his personality, the chair was the only luxury in the otherwise spartan room that resembled more of a cloistered brother’s cell than the Knight-Commander’s quarters. Neutral hues dominated, with the only artworks being depictions of the Chantry sunburst and Andraste’s Sword of Mercy. As with the other Templars, Greagoir preferred to use candle, flame and the fireplace to illuminate his rooms rather than magelight. Greagoir himself was clad in the linens worn beneath his armor. The stink and stains that clung to fabrics worn under iron sets of armor did not mar Greagoir’s clothes; silverite had more benefits than were often apparent. A silver sword pendant hung from his neck, which he often toyed with when deep in thought, as he was now. Yawning, he began to realize just how late it was and began to make his preparations for the following day before he went to bed.

After putting his rooms to rights, Greagoir meticulously checked his armor and arms. Satisfied that they were in order, Greagoir selected a verse from the Chant at random and read it aloud. He meditated and prayed for a few minutes and rose, heading to bed. Preternaturally, Greagoir could hear an odd tapping sound coming from the next room, coming from the door itself. Greagoir swore, thinking that if one of the young Templars or apprentices had thought to play a prank they were about to find themselves in a very sorry state. His anger dissipated instantly when he opened the door, however.

Elynna was mid-hop when he opened the door. Greagoir smiled when he realized that the latch was too high for her: her attempts to jump and open the door had caused the odd noise that had irritated him. She didn’t speak immediately, and Greagoir noted his young ward had her favorite stuffed dog hugged against her, just covering her face below her nose as she gazed up at him with those large green eyes. Greagoir folded his arms, resting his head against the door frame, and addressed her.

“Little Miss, what do you think you’re doing out of bed at this hour? And in the Templar Quarters no less?”

“Irving snores. Can’t sleep. Wanted to see you,” Elynna may have only been three, but she was a skilled manipulator, giving the Knight-Commander a smile and a hug that would have melted an Archdemon’s heart. Greagoir sighed, feeling too tired and old to resist and risk a temper tantrum from an over-tired child. He picked her up and immediately felt her snuggle against him. He kissed her on the forehead and walked back towards the other room. He decided to tuck her into his bed on the side that was adjacent to the wall; he had no idea if she were prone to falling out of bed and he didn’t feel like figuring it out today. Greagoir did another once over of his room and came back to bed to find Elynna already asleep. He settled himself in and tried not to disturb her. The Knight-Commander was clearly more tired than he had thought as he fell asleep as fast as the little girl had.

Greagoir’s Templar training broke his deep sleep around dawn as he began to feel waves of undirected magic around him. Half-asleep he gave little thought to cancelling the magic with a powerful magic cleanse. Whimpers of pain brought him fully awake, however. His shirt was increasing becoming wet with tears: apparently Elynna had curled up against his chest at some point in the night. Greagoir gingerly sat up and brought the girl into his lap. She was crying and hiccupping and was clammy to the touch. Realizing the girl must have been the source of the magic and that the amount of energy he’d put into the mana cleanse would have drained a powerful adult maleficarum, Greagoir felt panicked. He shifted Elynna and went over to the other room, where he kept some vials of lyrium. He poured a few drops into a glass and diluted it with water.

When he walked back to the bed, Elynna was shaking. He propped her up and held her head as he tried to get her to drink. The light that was slowly entering the room through the arrow slits made it apparent that her eyes were increasingly becoming unfocused.

“Child, you need to drink this. It will make you feel better,” Greagoir tried to keep his voice calm, knowing it would do no good to let her know how scared he was.

Elynna obeyed and drank the glass to the last drop. Slowly she stopped shaking, her symptoms beginning to reverse. She calmed down and it looked like exhaustion was overtaking her. With a tiny smile at Greagoir she murmured “Thank-you, Papa,” before falling asleep. Greagoir instinctively moved to tuck her in, stroking her small, pale cheek and kissing her forehead. He saw her reflexively twitch as his beard brushed her face.

Greagoir sat there for several hours, watching her, heedless of the passage of time. He wondered if he had misheard her latest statement. That he loved her as a daughter was becoming more and more apparent. Yet had his mind fabricated that simple statement, still in pain from losing his son little more than a decade earlier and wondering about the boy every day since? At the time, Greagoir wished that that were the case. He wouldn’t have to feel quite so horrific about accidently putting her in that state, and to her mind, miraculously curing her and being worthy of the total trust he’d seen shining in her eyes. After he was certain the danger had passed, Greagoir began to prepare for the day, still unbalanced about what had happened. He kept punctuating his usual routine by checking on Elynna. Somewhat satisfied that she would be fine alone for a few minutes, Greagoir hurriedly made his way to the First Enchanter’s Study, to ascertain what sort of damage he’d inadvertently done.

When he opened the door to Irving’s study Greagoir wondered if a spell had gone awry. While the First Enchanter was by no means an orderly man- a fact that made Greagoir continually uncomfortable whenever in the study, and which Greagoir was certain Irving cultivated just for that purpose- the mess was alarming. Irving was also nowhere to be found, which was odd for this time of day. Greagoir began to make his way to Irving’s room and found a very haggard looking Irving checking all sorts of nooks and crannies in the corridor, looking for all the world like some mad scavenger and not the First Enchanter of Kinloch Hold. Irving flinched when he saw Greagoir.

“Irving, what are you doing? Your study looks like you unleashed Storm of the Century for fun, and now I find you wandering the corridors… like this.”

Irving took a deep breath and waited for his friend’s ire. “I… I don’t know where Elynna is. I’ve been looking for her for the last few hours…”

Greagoir cursed his own stupidity for not telling Irving when the girl had come to his rooms. “She is asleep in my rooms, Irving. Little scamp snuck up to see me.” Irving looked hugely relieved at that, but frowned when he saw Greagoir’s face.

“What happened, Greagoir?”

“I didn’t realize she emits mana as she sleeps… I cleansed the area and apparently drained her… She was sick, very sick after that. I gave her a little lyrium, and she slept calmly for a few hours, so I thought I would see what you knew of this sort of thing in case I only delayed something worse.” Irving looked alarmed and wordlessly raced towards the Templar Quarters, Greagoir close behind. The sight of the First Enchanter and Knight Commander running caused more than a few heads to turn, compounding the whispered gossip about Irving’s odd behavior earlier.

Eschewing the normal courtesy they showed each other, Irving immediately entered Greagoir’s rooms and went to the back room to check on Elynna.

Irving dragged a chair over to the bedside and sat down while Greagoir seated himself on the bed. Irving placed his hand on her forehead, smoothing back her hair a bit. Greagoir held one of her small hands, hoping he’d done her no permanent damage. Irving smiled and bent and kissed her on her forehead. 

“Lucky for you, Greagoir, she’s perfectly fine. Though I am concerned that she’s still leaking mana as she sleeps-“

“Papa?” Elynna looked up at Irving and gave a sleepy little smile. Greagoir felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Perhaps earlier she had thought he was Irving. And then she turned to Greagoir and echoed her question, looking at both men.

Both Irving and Greagoir were stunned. Irving laughed and stood and picked up the girl.

“Well, well, well. Whoever said children no nothing of politics? Very intelligent, little one, to make the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander your new parents.” 

Elynna took that as permission to tug on Irving’s beard. It was rather large after all. Irving winced and Greagoir snorted. Irving handed Elynna over to Greagoir and smoothed his beard.

“Well. I think we need to start you on a training routine little one. You can’t have excess mana like that; especially not around the Templars.”


	7. Chapter 7

Elynna’s routine easily became set for the next four years after she adopted Irving and Greagoir. After the incident, Elynna was firmly told that she was to stay with Irving at night, but would take an afternoon nap in Greagoir’s rooms while he had his lunch. Greagoir also insisted that she accompany him to Chantry twice a day, as he found Irving’s religious habits to be fairly deplorable. Irving also added some rudimentary control lessons to his duties, and found that she had a strong affinity for primal magic. Both men were still somewhat in shock that they had a child and each became quite pleased with that fact, as they were often found attending to their duties while holding Elynna and explaining to her the workings of the Tower.

Irving enjoyed the girl’s playful streak and did his best to encourage it, as there was time enough later for her to be serious. He did increasingly worry about her misbehavior, or more accurately, her lack thereof. Irving doubted that Greagoir would see that as an issue. She was often withdrawn, very quiet and obedient when the situation dictated it, which was unusual for one her age. The Templars, after getting used to her presence, often praised her behavior. Coupled with her independent streak that led her to wander the Tower at times, Irving feared that her family had had little concern for her, even before realizing she was a mage. He often took the time to get her to cause trouble, generally for Greagoir.


	8. The Veil Holds No Uncertainty For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:15 Dragon

Storms were a fact of life at the Tower. Late summer particularly tended towards rather vicious thunderstorms that sent the lake churning as bolts of lightning streaked across the sky and struck the tower not infrequently. Nights like those often saw the youngest apprentices doubled up in bunks as they reassured each other; the tower swayed and shook with the wind, and though it was in no danger of falling it was quite a frightening thing for the young children. For the youngest of the apprentices, who had no bunkmate to whisper to, it was particularly distressing.  
Elynna sat on the couch in front of the fire in Irving’s rooms. She’d wrapped a thick blanket around herself, knees huddled up to her chest. Irving was at the table reading an old treatise on entropy, watching the scene outside the window every so often. He glanced over at Elynna and did a double take when he saw the blanket. Deciding that the role of heat loss in paralytic spells could wait a bit he went over to Elynna and pulled the blanket down from her face, putting his arms about her.

A strand of hair landed in the five-year-old’s eyes. She soon focused on it and began to blow at it. Irving shook his head and gently tucked the offending strand behind her ear. Elynna then wriggled over closer to Irving and curled up against him. A few years ago Irving had little idea how to cope with the girl, but had adjusted quickly, enjoying her affectionate nature and predisposition for kisses and cuddling. Irving slowly rubbed her back, as it usually was a simple way to get her to fall asleep. A loud crash of thunder ended that moment abruptly as the little girl sat up and clung to Irving, whimpering.

“Child, it’s simply noise, light and a lot of water. Nothing to be afraid of.” Irving frowned and ran a hand through his beard. He picked up Elynna, blanket and all, and decided to go for a walk.

“ Papa, where are we going?” Elynna had rested her head on his shoulder. Her breathing was measured, no longer frantic and she spoke softly. Irving kissed her and she giggled as his beard tickled her face. He evaded her question, however, but it soon became clear that they were climbing the tower.  
Elynna yawned and soon began to reach out towards Irving’s beard. She didn’t quite pull, but Irving decided to head that off and put her hand back down at her side as he walked. He began to wonder why on earth he’d decided that he needed to look like a mysterious sorcerer when he’d become First Enchanter. Likely because it annoyed Greagoir. Irving snorted, remembering how irritated the Templar had become when he’d realized that his mustache would only grow in thin patches as he aged. He had to shave it to keep his trim look, whereas Irving suddenly sprouted the most impressive beard in the Tower. The dirty looks Greagoir had given him were priceless.

“What’s so funny, Papa?” Elynna seemed calm. Considering that several loud peals of thunder had assailed the Tower as they walked, it was a vast improvement.

“Oh nothing, child. Just remembering something silly.” Reaching the Templar Quarters Irving noted that a number of the Templars saluted him and waved to Elynna. She had increasingly become a favorite of theirs, with every man intensely protective of the little mage. For Irving, who had grown up in fear of the Templars it was a welcome site. Irving battled slight indecision as they neared Greagoir’s rooms. At the last minute Irving decided against having Greagoir join them; it may have been selfish, but Greagoir’s strong connection with the girl would likely leech the quality time away from Irving.

Irving knew that Elynna wasn’t allowed to be in this part of the Tower, technically. But as they entered the Harrowing Chamber, Irving decided that there was nothing she’d learn of the Harrowing that would be useful in fifteen years’ time. The room itself had always been off limits to the apprentices if only to level the field during the Harrowing by putting the mages in a completely unfamiliar setting. Because Harrowings happened only a few times a year, however, the room generally became something of a hang out area for the Enchanters and the Templars. Especially during storms like this.

Mage lights floated around the center of the room, illuminating pockets of mages and Templars talking or playing cards or kissing in the dimmer spaces. Irving carefully stepped around these various groups, who greeted him cheerfully, quickly turning back to their games or gossip. He soon found the stairs and continued higher, to the reason why he’d brought Elynna here.

A story above the floor of the Harrowing Chamber ran the observation deck, a completely circular indoor balcony that was lined with windows that were bolted shut. They ran from the floor of the deck to where the ceiling began to slope upwards for another story, the tower turret. Many more mages and Templars were gathered here, watching the storm from all angles and thrilling in the shaking and swaying of the tower, which was far more dramatic at this height.

“Papa, I don’t like this,” Elynna begged.

“Child, if this wasn’t safe, do you think all of the Enchanters and Templars would be up here? Look, Uncle Hadley is right over there, with Enchanter Leorah.” Irving called their names loud enough to make their leap away from one another rather guiltily. The Templar and mage had been kissing and Hadley was also clearly groping Leorah. Irving didn’t think it altogether appropriate for the two to get involved in such a manner, and far less appropriate for Elynna to see that sort of display. Hadley blushed furiously and made his way over to the First Enchanter while Leorah calmly joined them. The sun would rise in the West before a mage became as flustered as a Templar where sex was concerned.

“Good evening First Enchanter. How’s my favorite little mage doing?” Hadley put a hand on Elynna’s shoulder smiling at her. Lightening hit the lightening rod at the top of the tower, bathing the room in a flash of white light. Not long after another burst of thunder shook the tower as the rain pelted the windows. Elynna shook and turned her face back into Irving’s chest.

“Ah. Poor child, it’s alright. We’re all safe here, I promise.” Elynna looked tearfully up at Hadley, unbelieving. Leorah looked at the girl with a thoughtful expression.

“First Enchanter, how much magical theory is she familiar with?”

Irving frowned, thinking that this was hardly the time for Elynna to get a lesson, unless… “She’s familiar with basic control techniques, though she has an almost appalling aptitude for elemental magic, particularly fire.”

Leorah nodded and asked to hold the girl. Irving handed her over reluctantly. Leorah moved towards the window and Hadley and Irving followed, the Templar completely puzzled. Hadley put an arm around Leorah’s waist, looking at her holding Elynna with an expression that Irving recognized. Well. It seemed that the mage and Templar might be a bit more serious than he’d originally thought; he made a mental note to tell Greagoir not to interfere. Irving stood a polite distance apart from Leorah, listening to her explain some of the enchantments of the Tower.

“The thunder and lightning actually make the tower stronger, child. There’s a lightning rod at the top of the tower; the Tevinter magisters put it there to capture the lightening. Normal lightning rods direct the lightening down to the ground: with the enchantments on the tower the lightning becomes raw magic which is changed to an earth spell, similar to rock armor. A lot of magic is lost when reversal spells are done like that, but it’s far less than it would be if the secondary enchantment was outside the elemental school. The Tevinters have the greatest magic engineers in the world, and most of their engineering would still be standing in Fereldan if the enchantments were kept up. Like the highway that runs from the shore to the tower… But I suppose the limited access serves the Chantry’s purpose.”

There was far more to that set of spells, and there were several other companion spells that tied into it, but essentially Leorah had explained it well, Irving thought. Elynna began to look around, though still cautiously. She looked up at Hadley and held up her arms, wanting her uncle to hold her. Hadley held her with one arm, the other drawing Leorah closer. The young enchanter continued to speak to Elynna, seeing how uneasy she was.

“Elynna, have you learned how to read spells yet? Yes? Reach out towards the tower and see the enchantments when the lightening strikes,” They didn’t have to wait very long. And when the thunder shook the tower, Elynna looked more curious about the storm than frightened. Her impish grin soon returned to her face and Irving saw her ready to draw on some magic; Hadley frowned and cut her off, apologizing to Irving.

“It’s fine Knight-Captain. She’s adorable, but can’t seem to stop causing mischief… You spared me a long lecture from Greagoir if anything.” Irving winked at Hadley while Elynna squirmed to be put down. She ran over to the window and stood looking around. Hadley and Leorah left, bidding goodnight to Irving. The old mage sighed and fervently hoped that they were smart about their affair; the circle couldn’t afford to deal with the fallout from another mage-Templar romance gone awry. He turned his attention away from the two and back to Elynna.

Sitting down on the floor Irving pulled Elynna down into his lap, wrapping the blanket about her and kissing the side of her head. Soon Irving found her calming down enough that she began to sleep as they watched the storm outside. Irving had to admit to himself that there was something equally calming about holding the little girl as he found himself nodding off every so often. He began to agree with Greagoir, wishing the girl could remain at this age forever. It wasn’t long before she’d finally be of an age with the younger apprentices and have to move into the apprentice quarters and gain a mentor. To do anything else, or to apprentice her to himself would be favoritism of the worst sort and would just divide her from the other apprentices. But right now she was his little girl, and he’d make the most of that.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:15 Dragon

Making a face at the asparagus on her plate Elynna began toying with it, surreptitiously sneaking glances at the Knight Commander to see if he noticed. Greagoir ignored her and continued to work on the requisition form while pausing to eat. Deciding to push her luck Elynna began cutting the hated vegetable into small pieces by drumming her knife onto her plate. She sighed. And for effect, she sighed again, dramatically, continuing to play with her food. She kept looking up at Greagoir and this time noted with some small satisfaction that the vein in his forehead was slowly becoming more prominent and he began to chew at his lower lip as he continued to go over the form.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Sigh. Tap. Ta--- Her tapping was interrupted by the overly irritated Templar snatching her utensils away from her.

“Maker’s breath, just eat the damned vegetables and you can go!”

“Papa, I can’t eat it without a fork though…”

“You’re going to have to figure out how. That incessant racket you were making means you’ve lost the privilege of having utensils.”

Elynna snorted and began to explain to Greagoir slowly, “Utensils aren’t a privilege, Papa. They’re just… Like water. Getting water isn’t a privilege. Getting dessert is a privilege.” She looked fairly satisfied with herself for clearing things up for him.

The Templar had a steely look in his eye that dared her to argue further. Elynna looked down meekly, clasping her hands in her lap. “You know, at some circles mages aren’t allowed to have forks or knives. The Qunari don’t even let their mages have tongues.” She grew wide eyed at the last statement, which Greagoir noted with some satisfaction. More gently he added, “Now. Finish your asparagus—and Andraste help you if you make a mess.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:16 Dragon

Elynna fidgeted at her desk, bored with Senior Enchanter Sweeney’s droning. Templar Bran was in attendance and Elynna wondered what he would do if his feet were frozen in a cube of ice. Unfortunately, the young mage still had little control over her magic, and her daydreaming soon turned to reality. A great deal of shouting- and melting- ensued and soon the usually amiable Sweeney was in a towering rage.

“Which one of you did this? You realize that assaulting a Templar can warrant a trip to Aeonar? STAND UP NOW, APPRENTICE!”

Elynna stood, rather sheepishly. It was her first week of real training as a mage and she was adjusting poorly. She had been chosen by Uldred to serve as his apprentice, and there was something distinctly… dark… about him she did not like. However, she had already been warned that running to Greagoir and Irving was not simply something she could do anymore; she was a mage apprentice and needed to follow the rules, just as everyone else had. She had been moved to the apprentice quarters as well and given a warning that wandering around the senior mage quarters without reason- as well as the Templar Quarters- would result in the same punishments the other apprentices received. She had reconnected with Niall and befriended five other apprentices, Kieli, Petra, Kinnon, Neria and Jowan, but it did little to ease her transition. So she consciously- and unconsciously, it seemed- acted out, as punishments were meted out by the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter in order to discourage the apprentices from misbehaving. 

“Elynna… This is surprising,” a rather exasperated Sweeney noted sarcastically. “Templar Bran, where do you recommend she be sent this time?”

Bran himself felt a bit awkward about the situation. He knew that Elynna meant no real harm to himself personally; he was one of her adopted uncles and often gave her a sweet or two in the days when she was a fixture in the Templar quarters. But she did need to learn her place, and Greagoir was perhaps better with disciplining her than Irving was. He sighed and told Sweeney he would bring her to the Knight-Commander. Some of the new apprentices gasped and shot Elynna sympathetic looks, not yet understanding where she stood in the world of the Circle Tower. Elynna herself smiled and apologized to Bran.

Upon reaching Greagoir’s study Bran left Elynna. She knocked on the door- a knock that she had devised with Greagoir in one of their many games- and was swept up in a hug by the Knight-Commander as he opened the door.

“Now, what sort of mischief did you unleash today, little one?” Greagoir asked jokingly, as usually she landed in his study due to some simple prank gone awry. Elynna bit her lip and didn’t make eye contact; to Greagoir, these were tell-tale signs that she had done something quite beyond a small prank. He set her down and sighed.

“Elynna, what did you do?”

“Father… Sweeney is really, really boring. Really boring. So I wasn’t paying attention…” Elynna trailed off and snuck a glance at Greagoir to gauge just how upset he was getting. He had his “Knight-Commander” face on, which didn’t bode well for her.

“Elynna, out with it. Senior Enchanter Sweeney surely did not send you to me because of your attention span.”

“I was just thinking that Uncle Bran would be really surprised if his feet were in a block of ice, ‘cos that was more interesting than Sweeney… but…” Elynna was practically speaking to her own lap at this point and had turned a bright shade of red, anticipating what would come.

“You froze Knight-Captain Bran’s legs. You basically assaulted a Templar- one who cares for you- with MAGIC.” Greagoir voice climbed an octave as he spoke. He was also becoming red, and his neck vein was beginning to bulge. Greagoir continued to berate his adoptive daughter long past the point where she had dissolved into tears and had begun pleading. His fears over her pranking the wrong Templar who may report the girl and Greagoir’s irregular care for her, to Denerim, overrode his usual compassion for her. He was old- a trip to Aeonar would be a death sentence, but he had lived a full life. For her, at such a young age, it would also be death, a fate she did not deserve. Elynna needed to learn better for her own sake.

Greagoir ceased and allowed Elynna to collect herself, as he also composed himself. He asked Liam, one of the younger Templars, to fetch the First Enchanter. It seemed their odd little family had a situation to remedy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:17 Dragon

                Gingerly grabbing the handle of the kettle, Irving lifted it off the fire, pouring the water into his waiting teapot on the table. Feeling somewhat restive, he moved about the room, seemingly straightening objects at random. There was an organization to the mess, though only Wynne had ever been able to see to the heart of that. Somewhat satisfied, he made to sit and pour his now-steeped elfroot tea, to combat his throbbing headache before he retired to bed. A hesitant rap on the door forced him to forgo the tea and see who needed him at this late hour; wryly he thought he’d put a large sum of money on it being his daughter.

                As predicted it was Elynna, though she was clearly out of sorts: quiet and demure rather than immediately barreling into him for a hug. Irving forestalled a lecture on her being out of bed so late and frowned, putting a hand on her shoulder and beckoning her inside. He motioned for her to sit at the table; he sat as well, gingerly sipping at his tea. She refused to sit, standing near him, hands clasped in front, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. His child’s face was what concerned him the most: she was drawn and pale and looked as if she was fighting back tears or terror. Irving reflexively raised his hand to her forehead.

                “Well, no fever. What’s wrong, pet?”

                “I had a nightmare.” Alarmed Irving looked at her closely. It generally took years for apprentices to begin to wear down enough to be at risk for possession after the initial trauma they endured when their gift began to manifest. There was always a rare child that became overwhelmed, but mentors knew the signs to watch for, the traits that predisposed mages. They drilled rudimentary protections into the children during lessons and gave out small doses of laudanum for the more dangerous cases—though the side effects over time were almost more damning than the dreamless sleep it provided. Yet sometimes none of the precautions were enough. Elynna had only had her gift active for a mere five years though, and none of the literature on the other precocious magelings had shown any indication that they were different in any discernable way other than how early their magic manifested. Well, other than the report written about a child of six months, the son of two incredibly powerful mages, who was able to use his power to communicate…

                 Irving took her hand and drew her gently up into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. It was hard to believe how much she had grown, how easily he could once carry her around. “Well, do you want to tell me what this nightmare was about?”

                He could feel her turn her face into his chest, a sure sign that she had little wish to do so. The older mage was content to wait her out, particularly if this had indeed been a demonic encounter rather than a bad dream. He closed his eyes and hummed an old lullaby his mother had once sang to him—it had never ceased to amaze him how many of his own dimly forgotten childhood memories were dredged up now that he had his own child to raise. He stroked her hair and felt the girl relax, breathing evenly. It felt like an age, though a pleasant, warm, comforting one at that, before he heard Elynna’s small voice.

                “Papa… There was a lady…” A lady? Not… Dear Maker. He held her tighter.

                “She said she could make you and papa my real fathers. I… I know what both of you said, but…” She was crying now. His poor girl, she couldn’t understand, it simply wasn’t possible for him to love her more, whether or not she was his blood. He should have known that talk wouldn’t have solved everything; Godwin’s words had been eating her alive for the last few years clearly, for her to attract a desire demon. The wants of young children were usually too fleeting, too shallow to call to those spirits, but Elynna was fixated on this.

                Irving spoke quietly, though firmly, “Did you agree to anything? What did she want in return?”

                Elynna was hiccupping through her sobs, having a difficult time answering. Irving rubbed her back in slow circles, trying to calm her a bit.

                “She… She said I had to let her in. Like a demon asks in lessons. I told her no. And then I thought I woke up and I went to find you and Papa… But you didn’t know who I was. And the lady came back and asked again if I wanted you to be my real Papa. And then I really thought I woke up, but this time I tried to find you but you had a different daughter, not me and you didn’t see me… And then Jowan shook me awake. So I went to find you, to make sure that the dream was over… I’m sorry Papa.”

                Irving leaned down and kissed the girl on the top of her head, “My darling daughter, I love you. And I’m proud of you… Most of us don’t start facing the demons until our late teens; child, there are few things more terrifying. And you stood firm, that’s not a small thing. I’m afraid this won’t be the last time this happens. Far from it. But you need to do the same thing each time, no matter what unholy spirit you face: deny them.”

               

                Elynna looked up at him with her big green eyes and bit her lip slightly. Irving smoothed back a stray hair from her face; the demon wasn’t truly what had worried at her, but he needed to emphasize the danger, and how she had handled it. Truth be told he had little inclination of how to allay her fears concerning the other matter. Greagoir and he showered her with affection and love at every turn.

                “Now, love, we’ve told you this before: Godwin has little idea of what he speaks. We love you just as much as any child of our bodies. And if I have to hold you in my arms right here for the next three days just to get the point across, I will.”

                Elynna giggled at that. Irving grinned at her “Oh, you think that’s funny do you?” He playfully gave her a raspberry and mercilessly started tickling her.

                “Nooooooooo! Papa! Eeeeeeeeeeee!” Irving slowed his torment as she happily shrieked, rising and picking her up.

                “Alright, alright. I think it’s time for both of us to be back in bed; you can go back to the dormitory if you wish, or you can sleep with me.” Much has he simply wanted her beside him, where he could watch over her, he wasn’t going to deprive her of the right to face this like any other apprentice would.

                “I wanna stay with you, Papa. I never have bad dreams when you’re around.” Irving shook his head at that; it was a lie, but he wasn’t going to pursue that. He carried her over to his bed and set her down, wincing as his did so. Elynna kept growing and his body kept aging, a combination that hardly worked well together, he reflected ruefully.

                Elynna burrowed herself under the covers as Irving climbed in. He turned over and tucked her in, kissing her and whispering goodnight. As she had for as long as he could remember, he found Elynna snuggled up to his side before his head had even hit the pillow. Drifting off, he put an arm around her: comforting, safe. He could dimly hear her make a few contented noises as he descended into sleep.

***

                At his age, Irving knew certain spots in the fade where he could allow his consciousness to drift and he could simply sleep without concern of fighting off possession. Swimming in the warm embrace of that emptiness and his blankets for as long as he damned well pleased was one of his more treasured privileges as First Enchanter. One that was being rather pointedly violated by his daughter poking him and whispering, “Papa? Are you awake yet Papa?” repeatedly.

                He was trying to recall why he’d wanted to be a father as he sat up and brushed the sleep out of his eyes. And then Elynna threw her arms around him, kissing his cheek and greeting him with an exuberant “Morning Papa!” The rude awakening was promptly forgiven: he crushed her to his chest in a bear hug, giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek which was greeted by indignant noises from his seven year old. She wriggled away from him and raced out of bed. Irving grinned and leaned back, closing his eyes, hoping to sleep for just a few more moments before…

                Tugging on his arm jolted him awake again. Elynna was dressed in her apprentice blues, hair braided neatly though currently she wore an amused expression on her face, head cocked to one side as she studied him. Towering behind her, however, was Greagoir. Armor polished and not a hair out of place, the man mirrored his daughter’s expression almost exactly, his gauntleted hands resting lightly though protectively on her small shoulders. Had Irving not felt sheepish about lying abed so late it would have been an adorable scene to his mind.

                “Hmph. Child, we will be late for the chant. Allow your slugabed father to haul his lazy butt out of bed on his own time.”

                “But Papa, I wanted to have morning tea with Papa…” Elynna twisted to look up at Greagoir, he smiled gently at her and stroked her cheek.

                “Sweetling, I’m sure that Irving will have tea with you before your lessons. Revered Mother Mathilde will not wait, and I cannot be late. Come.” Greagoir turned and herded Elynna towards the door, hand on her back; she stopped, turned and pouted at Irving before being gently pushed forward. Greagoir shot Irving a look that spoke volumes on ‘proper discipline.’

                Throwing a pillow at his lover’s retreating form, Irving rose and begrudgingly decided to ready himself for the day.

***

                Greagoir knelt before the pew and bowed his head before rising and seating himself near to the front. In his peripheral vision he watched his daughter repeat the same steps before coming to sit next to him. Elynna listened attentively


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:19 Dragon

Elynna walked arm in arm with the Knight Commander following morning Chant. Green eyes bright and innocent at nine years old, she looked up at Greagoir as she eagerly discussed theology with the gruff Templar. For his own part, Greagoir could not contain a smile around the girl, and found her interest in theological matters to be becoming. He also relished the opportunity to teach Elynna Chantry history, a part of his Templar training he had enjoyed as a young man. He remained intently involved in his conversation as his feet instinctively brought him towards his onerous duty for the day. He hadn’t intended to bring Elynna this near the Harrowing Chamber, but it couldn’t be helped. Elynna looked around the antechamber and took in the details of this part of the tower she had never had reason to visit since that storm with Irving four years ago, but it was barely remembered. Her eyes alighted on First Enchanter Irving, Enchanter Leorah and Alyrien, an elven apprentice around 18 years old. Alyrien had helped Elynna learn several healing spells, so Elynna smiled and waved at her. Irving frowned at Elynna and Greagoir.

“Child, I will be busy for several hours. Consider the afternoon yours. Why don’t you head outside, its rather nice out… Bring Templar Alden, he’s willing to put up with you.”

“Maybe… Father, its rather useless having the afternoon to oneself when everyone else is in lessons.” Elynna wasn’t going to be got rid of so easily, clearly.  
Greagoir knew precisely how to distract her, and more importantly get her to leave this part of the tower. “Elynna, I have a few good books on the sermons of Joyous II that would interest you, and continue our conversation. Go down to my rooms and feel free to go through my bookshelf.”

Irving groaned at that and winked at Elynna, “Or you could go set some templar’s robes on fire. Might be more fun.”

Elynna giggled at Irving’s suggestion and shook her head. Greagoir gave Irving a dark look, and motioned for the Harrowing party to continue up the stairs, and for Elynna to head elsewhere.

Elynna wondered about the Harrowings and the secrecy involved. Perhaps she could tease something out of Greagoir or Irving at some point. For now, she truly did want to see what books Greagoir had. She had never considered Greagoir to be much of a scholar, but the range of subjects he was conversant on impressed her. She nodded at the Templar stationed outside Greagoir’s rooms; he didn’t react as she entered his rooms, as she was a fairly common sight in the Templar Quarters now. She took in the starkness of his space as she entered, and made a mental note to straighten up anything she moved before she left. Browsing the bookcase Elynna found both the sermons of Joyous II and Justinia I and began to examine how ideas changed since the founding of the chantry. After four hours of successfully accomplishing nothing but a headache, Elynna became severely bored and began to contemplate Irving’s suggestion.

She wondered why Greagoir and Irving weren’t back yet, and decided to take the books and sit outside the Chamber. After around five minutes of sitting on the steps below the Chamber, the door opened and the Harrowing party made their way down the stairs. Elynna smiled, looking for Alyrien. The scene before her was anything but happy. Leorah was holding onto Irving and sobbing, while tears rolled down Irving’s cheeks as well. The Templars were silent and Greagoir looked angry. At seeing Elynna he snapped at her.

“Girl, I told you to leave this area. Get back to your quarters, now!” Confused as to what had happened, where Alyrien was and why Greagoir was so upset, Elynna fled back to the apprentice quarters.

After a few hours, and noting her absence at his side during evening Chant, Greagoir had regretted his outburst at Elynna. To have to cut down the young mage, burn the body and deliver last rites had put him in a foul mood. It was his duty and there was no changing that, but he’d hoped she’d be better prepared. Leorah blamed him for the outcome, though he knew after a few days that would pass, mostly. Most of the Enchanters who had lost an apprentice to his blade always bore him some degree of resentment, which cut him deeply as many had been friends. Irving had been present at every one, however, and knew the Templar’s duty was a great weight on him. Elynna had not yet acclimated herself to the rigors of his duty, and had simply been in the wrong place at a very bad time. Greagoir downed a glass of wine and decided to go apologize to his daughter.

Elynna sat on her bunk in the apprentice quarters with a few friends, laughing and whispering. The Knight-Commander’s presence in the Apprentice Quarters immediately caused the room to fall silent. Looking up to see the cause, Elynna glared at Greagoir and then decided to ignore him, returning to talking to her friends. The other apprentices however were mute.

“Elynna, can I speak to you?” Greagoir wanted to remain civil, though her attitude was quickly causing his temper to rise.

She continued to ignore him until she felt his armored hand on her shoulder. “Apprentice Elynna, you are to report to the Knight-Commander immediately,” he coldly said to her. If she wanted to be childish, she’d be treated as such.

Elynna fumed and gave him another moody glare. Greagoir shrugged and picked her up, carrying her slung over one shoulder. Deciding that fighting him would serve no purpose other than continued embarrassment, Elynna lay there limp. After reaching the senior mage quarters thus, Greagoir set her down and told her she could walk on her own if she behaved. They reached his rooms in silence, a marked change from earlier that day.

Greagoir sat in his chair. “Now, child, I didn’t want to do that to you. I had come down to see you so I could apologize for yelling at you, and you turned this into a scene.”

Elynna looked at the floor, feeling horrible. “Father, I’m sorry… I was just upset. I didn’t do anything and…”

Greagoir sighed, “When an apprentice fails a Harrowing, it’s difficult. Unimaginably difficult.”

Elynna looked curious, “I was wondering where Alyrien was. Does she get to do it again, or does she become one of the Tranquil…?”

Greagoir looked at her sadly, “Child, I cannot tell you much of the Harrowing. However, for those that fail, there is no second chance. It is… Part of my duty. Alyrien was given to the Maker’s embrace.”

Elynna had been sitting in Greagoir’s lap, but as he spoke she rose and looked at him with a look of pure horror. He would give anything to have never seen that look on her face. It was like a blade, twisting in his gut as he saw her see him as a monster. Greagoir rose and tried to speak to her, but Elynna flinched and ran out.

Her father kills mages. Elynna knew it was a part of a Templar’s duty, but it had always been something connected to “bad mages”: apostates and blood mages. Not sweet young apprentices who had always had a kind word for the younger children. Elynna realized just how foolish her childhood ideas must have been. She was a mage, her friends were mages. Greagoir might cut any of them down in order to follow Chantry directions. That her father might take her own life to follow his duty scared Elynna. She had perhaps had a stronger bond with her Templar father until this day. To learn this… Her trust was shattered.

***

Greagoir had not appeared in his study the following morning, confusing a great many Templars and the First Enchanter. Deciding to investigate, Irving made his way to the Templar Quarters. Without the grim Knight-Commander’s presence asserting discipline, Irving’s presence found many of the Templars jump into a salute from their slouched stances. Irving was admitted to Greagoir’s rooms without a fuss, just another mark of the slipped discipline. However, the lazy Templars did not compare to the state Greagoir and his rooms were in.

The stench of Highever whisky, Antivan brandy and the good Rivaini wine Greagoir liked mingled in the air and assaulted Irving’s nose as he stepped inside. Broken bottles littered the floor along with pools of alcohol. The furniture, what little Greagoir had at any rate, was tipped over. Greagoir himself was passed out in front of the fire, wrapped in a very dirty sheet and wearing little else. Irving noticed some leather breeches in the fire: Greagoir had really never been a sensible drunk. 

Irving tapped Greagoir’s insensate form with the toe of his boot. Greagoir groaned.

“Irving? What? Andraste’s flaming sword, my head hurts…”

“Greagoir, what have you been up to? And why wasn’t I invited?” 

Greagoir began to get some sense of the day before. And that look on his daughter’s face. He sat up and reached for the unbroken bottle of whisky and took a long swig, the sheet settling on the floor. He stared into a fireplace devoid of flames, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. Irving sighed, and left to find Wynne. There were few people who could get through to Greagoir when he broke down, and she was at the top of the list. The two had been tip-toeing around each other for years, but once and awhile would fall into old patterns. Irving just hoped Wynne wasn’t feeling vicious today.

Senior Enchanter Wynne was busily teaching a lesson on fire control to a group of nine and ten year olds, including Elynna. Several of the apprentices, such as Kieli, were very much afraid of summoning fire and had to be coaxed into the basic candle-lighting exercise, a very delicate process. At the same time she had to keep an eye on those like Elynna, who were not only afraid of fire, but were casting rather large fireballs. Elynna seemed to think it was amusing to juggle it. It was safe to say that Wynne had a short temper for other than her apprentices as the stresses of the two groups, and the danger of the medium they were working with, was fraying her nerves. She normally preferred to teach the introductory healing classes, but they were short for the week so she volunteered. All the chatter among the apprentices suddenly ceased, however. Wynne looked up from where she was seated with Kieli and saw Irving enter the room. She asked all apprentices to cease all spellcasting as she went to talk to Irving a little ways away.

“Whoever was supposed to have this group owes me. Substantially. I’m thinking bundles upon bundles of rashvine, gathered, cut and dried.”

“Bad group?” Irving frowned, thinking that the group seemed to have good children in it.

“Not entirely. I’m just not ready to be teaching lessons on fire. Especially when half the group is afraid of it and the other half are pyromaniacs-- including you daughter. I’m exhausted and in desperate need of some alcohol.”

“Well, I certainly know a man who can provide it… Wynne, Greagoir is in a bad way. He’s a mess, as are his quarters. I can’t get a word out of him. Could you…?”

Wynne frowned. Greagoir was a grown man and needed to clean up his own messes. He’d made it abundantly clear that there was nothing left between the two of them, and she didn’t give a damn. Yet the Tower wouldn’t function without its Knight-Commander. And she could cease teaching this group as well… “Very well, Irving. Let me tell the children I’ve cancelled their lessons.”

Irving nodded and waited until Wynne was done. The children cheered and left, headed towards their quarters. Elynna lagged behind to greet Irving, but soon ran to catch up with her peers. Irving watched them go and then accompanied Wynne back to the wreck that was the Knight-Commander.

Greagoir hadn’t moved, which worried Irving. Wynne swore a blue streak when she saw the disaster. Irving realized Greagoir was still in a state of undress and decided that he’d thank Irving later for covering him up with Wynne in the room. However, Greagoir began to fight Irving. Wynne ordered Irving to step back. Grimacing, Wynne sat down beside Greagoir, and somewhat against her will subconsciously noted that his body had still remained impressive after the last two decades had gone by. She dismissed that thought from her mind however, and tried to wring some sort of sense out of him. Greagoir clung to Wynne and sobbed into her shoulder. Wynne often wished Greagoir to know the misery she’d felt day after day, but this was pathetic and heartbreaking.  
After a few moments she realized that Greagoir had broken down over the failed Harrowing. She knew it was a part of his duty he detested, but he did it nonetheless. As she was speaking to him, Wynne directed Irving to clean Greagoir’s rooms- to Greagoir’s standard. She hoped that she’d be able to get him into a bath as well, but she knew that such a thing might be beyond them at the moment. 

After about twenty minutes Greagoir calmed down, but kept looking for more alcohol. Wynne had preempted that and had Irving remove anything remaining. She wouldn’t be able to stop Greagoir if it came down to physical restraint, but she could be one step ahead. Greagoir soon realized he was alone, and naked, with Wynne and began to make some fairly lewd suggestions, rather than making any sense. After the third time of him attempting to kiss her, Irving intervened and helped Wynne extricate herself from Greagoir. He then grabbed the copper tub off the wall and Wynne and he filled it with conjured ice that they began melting. The two of them dumped the Templar into the freezing water and dunked him under.

Greagoir came up for air sputtering and had a murderous look on his face. Wynne grabbed the soap and looked at Irving.

Irving snorted, “You think I’m going to wash him? We’re close, but not that close. Besides,” he added slyly, “Maybe you’ll enjoy getting reacquainted with him…”

Wynne gave Irving a look that would have killed an archdemon at one hundred paces. She very nearly got up and left, but leaving anyone, even Greagoir, in such a poor state was something that Wynne just couldn’t do. She lathered up the soap and began to wash Greagoir’s currently greasy hair.  
Adressing Irving, Wynne said, “Irving can you at least shave him? I really have little idea about the mechanics of that, and you know he’s always been particular about his beard.”

“Irving is not going near my face with a blade. I like my nose.” At least Greagoir seemed to be snapping back a bit. He went silent as Wynne continued to wash him, intently watching her. The spell Wynne was using to drain the alcohol from his blood was clearly taking effect as he became more visibly interested in her touch. Wynne decided that washing any closer to his waist was above and beyond the call of her duty to the tower, and decided to dunk Greagoir’s head back in the cold water- ostensibly to rinse his hair.

She gave him a glare she’d given her students many times over the years. “Now Knight-Commander, what in the world has you so worked up that it took the First Enchanter and a Senior Enchanter a few hours to get you closer to your oh so charming self?”

Greagoir colored, feeling slightly less confident as her tone made him feel like a very small boy. The moment was lost when he again relived the look of horror on Elynna’s face, and how she flinched. To have his own child fear him, to think he was some sort of monster- the sort of man his own father had been, was too much. Greagoir went quiet and sunk down into the water a bit. He asked Wynne and Irving to give him some privacy to dress. The two didn’t move.

“Greagoir, at this point, we’ve seen it all. Maker, I certainly didn’t need that, but there it is. I’m not certain you can be trusted alone, so you’ll dress right here.” Wynne’s tone brooked no room for argument. Greagoir rose and went to get a towel, noting that the two at least averted their eyes. It was an awkward moment all around. Greagoir found a clean pair of breeches and a linen shirt along with his only pair of leather boots. He didn’t quite feel up to getting his armor on today.

When he came back into the other room, he noted that Wynne and Irving had finished cleaning up the awful mess he’d made. Greagoir felt vaguely ashamed of his behavior, adding it to the pile of cares that had broken him already. Irving had pulled up the desk chair near to the armchair. Wynne sat on the stool that Elynna usually used… Greagoir shook off the feeling that came with that thought and took the last seat in the sparse room.

Slowly and painfully the big Templar began to bare his soul to his closest friend and his former lover. Hearing what the problem was, Wynne felt for him. Irving was more than a little troubled and excused himself to find Elynna. Greagoir and Wynne sat in a not uncomfortable silence while he was gone. Wynne eventually began to brew some tea.

Elynna was enjoying her afternoon respite with her classmates, much better than the previous day. She tried not to focus on the thing she had learned yesterday, as it still scared her. Perhaps running with the apprentices would be better than the time she had previously spent with the men she both called father. Currently, she was playing catch with a ball of ice they had conjured, throwing it across the room at weird angles with their magic. Irving walked in and interrupted the group spell.

Elynna soon found herself accompanying Irving to his rooms in the senior mage quarters. Exhausted he calmly asked her to explain what happened yesterday when she was with Greagoir. Elynna slowly began to relate what Greagoir told her.

“But father… How… How can he do such horrible things? Will that happen to my friends? To me? Why? I thought he was a good man…”

Irving sighed. He could empathize with the feelings Elynna was trying to process. But she needed to understand what each Harrowing did to Greagoir, so he couldn’t afford to coddle her in this.

“Elynna, you know your father well. Do you truly think he enjoys doing something like that? It is a part of the Templar’s duty, and he’s torn every time a Harrowing goes wrong. It’s why he yelled at you: he was as upset, if not more so, than the mages in the party yesterday.”

Elynna began to look ashamed that she had felt that way. Irving sighed and decided not to pull any punches, “Elynna, when Greagoir told you what he has to do, your running out hurt him badly. Very badly. He’s been in his rooms since yesterday, in fact.”

Elynna’s heart was in her stomach as she followed Irving to the Templar quarters. When they entered, Greagoir and Wynne were drinking tea and talking about inconsequential things. The look of hurt that was so evident on Greagoir’s face, though he attempted to hide it, cut Elynna like a knife. She ran over to him and cried, apologizing to him. Greagoir picked her up; though she was clearly too big for it, just holding on to her helped clear his head and set him aright. Wynne and Irving left, to give Greagoir and Elynna time to patch things up.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:22 Dragon

Almost… There! Elynna grinned as the paper birds she made began levitating. Father wanted her to practice her force magic a bit; technically the force magic spells fell under the Primal school of magic, but it differed greatly from the raw elemental powers Elynna was naturally gifted with. Irving had initially demonstrated what he wanted her to do by crafting a bird out of scraps of parchment and paper, which he promptly set to flight. He’d grinned at the expression on her face and winked: she’d more or less just received permission to practice with pranks. And so she set to work with a vengeance.

                Before she set her new flock loose on Finn, however, Elynna wanted to show Irving her progress. Biting her lip in concentration she managed to direct the paper birds in front of her on the walk from the library to his chambers. She’d broken into a sweat from the effort at sustaining the spell by the time she reached his door—trying to do something physical, such as opening the door, only made it that much worse. She’d turned the handle and opened the door a crack before she was gasping. She let the spell go and was angry at herself for a moment. She now had no strength left to show him and had a mess of birds to pick up. She pouted but bent down and began to try to pick up the birds while fighting off the dizziness. Now Irving was simply going to lecture her on overextending herself… But she probably wouldn’t need to practice for the rest of the day. And he’d make her some tea.

                She reached for the last bird, wedged into the door jam and pushed the door open a bit further. Still on the ground she looked up to see if Irving was even in. She blushed immediately. Both of her fathers were here: Greagoir nestled comfortably in Irving’s arms, eyes closed and smiling while the mage kissed along his jaw. Elynna back out slowly and tried to close the door unobtrusively. She had little wish to bother either of them during such an intimate moment, they had so few of them; her walking in on such things in the past had always seemed to ruin things, she noted, though neither man would admit that to her. Shockingly she accomplished her goal of being unobserved and walked back to the apprentice quarters, looking for Petra and Neria.

***

                Greagoir opened his eyes, hearing Irving’s low chuckle. Looking into his hazel eyes, he leaned closer and kissed him for a long moment, leaving both breathing a bit more deeply by the time they pulled away for air. Irving shook his head a moment and sighed, pulling the Templar against his chest.

                “We got lucky.”

                “Hmmmm?” Greagoir hazily tried to figure out what Irving was talking about, though the effort wasn’t worth it. He was aroused and wasn’t particularly interested in trying to reason through one of Irving’s puzzles.

                The mage laughed again, “You didn’t notice our visitor? Our daughter’s finally old enough to not interrupt. We got lucky to have such a good child.”

                Greagoir sat up, ignoring the annoyed expression on Irving’s face, “Does she need you, do you think?”

                Rolling his eyes, Irving restrained Greagoir from getting up. “Stop it. If it was urgent, she would have interrupted. Love, you can’t do this. She’s twelve, not four. We can have some time to ourselves if we wish… You really need to stop babying her.”

                “I do not—“

                Irving’s voice rose an octave in reply, “Bullshit. My dear Knight Commander, all you do is treat that girl like a small child. She’s becoming a young woman. Did you know she’s had her first moonblood?”

                “Irving! I don’t need to know that—“ Greagoir had turned scarlet and pulled at his collar, frowning.

                Cutting him off again, there was some real anger in Irving’s eyes, “Oh? Don’t you? She’s. Not. A. Child,” he bit off each word carefully. “Wynne told me and I went and talked with Elynna. As little as I personally know about this, our daughter knows even less—and she has to live with it. Thankfully Wynne was here, but you know her. Always out beyond the Tower… Should I just do what you’re doing and immaturely turn Elynna away? Let her know that she can’t come to me with anything, because I’m not comfortable with how she’s maturing, with what’s involved in growing into a young woman? No, Greagoir. I won’t. Because of how you baby her, she already felt she couldn’t talk to you and thought that I’d be uncomfortable too. You did that. It’s not her fault she has a pair of fathers, no mother, and an aunt who doesn’t spend much time here. Start thinking about what she needs—not what you need her to be.”

                Greagoir started at that. “She… Doesn’t think she can come to me?” Irving felt guilty for how torn up the big Templar now looked and put his arms around him, kissing his cheek.

                “Just… go talk to her. Have that incredibly uncomfortable conversation. Because it will be, I assure you. There are certainly realities to coming of age at this tower, and I’d rather she know what she’s about—and that we at least have some small idea of what that is as well. Love, she absolutely worships you; I don’t want to see a wedge start forming between you two now. Talk to her soon… Just not now.”

                Irving recommenced kissing Greagoir’s neck, mischievously deciding the man looked better covered in hickeys. The Templar let out a noise that was some cross between a growl and a purr and grabbed Irving by the shoulders, pushing him onto his back. Irving raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Greagoir was rarely on top, but when he wanted it, the man was implacable.

                Straddling Irving’s hips, he studied the man for a moment, somewhat involuntarily grinding his erection against the other man’s. Lust shone in Irving’s eyes. Grinning he leaned down and began kissing Irving’s neck, returning those hickeys, though admittedly Irving’s ridiculous beard limited the visibility. The mage was hardly passively taking it, however. Greagoir could feel his hands travelling down towards his breeches, fingers trying to get ahold of the laces that held back his member, though the Templar made it difficult, enjoying the feeling of rubbing his hardness against Irving’s. He needed to have sex more frequently, clearly.

                Working his way up to Irving’s mouth, he noticed with some satisfaction that Irving had managed to pull his cock and balls out, his hands now travelling up the inside of his shirt, stopping to play with Greagoir’s nipples. The Templar let out a moan into his lover’s mouth before Irving pushed him upright to pull the shirt and tunic off his head 

                Taking advantage of the break in their rhythm, Greagoir stripped off his pants entirely while the mage pulled his robes off. Neither of them clearly needed any further foreplay: Greagoir grabbed a vial of oil and began to liberally slather it on his length and in Irving’s hole. Pushing him back down onto the couch again, Greagoir spread Irving’s legs, tilted his hips and positioned himself at the man’s entrance. He penetrated slowly, his mind gone in the haze of how tightly the man fit around his cock. Greagoir suspected some magic had to be involved with that—or Irving simply refused to bottom for most partners. He leaned forward carefully and kissed Irving fiercely, enjoying Irving’s hard cock involuntarily tracing pre-cum along his belly with each thrust.

                Irving’s breath became increasingly ragged, interspersed with moans with each thrust. One long one accompanied a hot wetness on his stomach. Covered in his lover’s cum, Greagoir felt himself getting closer and closer to his own climax. Irving began kissing around his jaw and playing with his nipples, pushing his over the edge. With a cry he slammed into Irving one last time and emptied himself.

                Utterly spent he pulled out and collapsed onto Irving’s chest, making both of them sticky with the mage’s cum. Neither cared. Greagoir slipped into sleep as Irving wrapped his arms around him.

***

                For what seemed like the thousandth time in the last ten minutes, Irving checked the couch over for any evidence of his lovemaking with Greagoir. He spent a great deal of time having long talks with his daughter on it and hardly wanted her to picture anything vaguely along those lines happening on it. He colored, remembering when she was six and walked in on them going at it… And then when she was seven and walked in on him and Wynne. The explaining that had entailed had been unnecessarily creative, he realized, looking back. And yet, knocking was still a thing that she remembered infrequently, Maker bless that poor child of his.

                Gathering his staff and his key, Irving locked the room and made his way to the Great Hall for dinner. Wynne, Torrin, Sweeney, Callum and Bran were already seated and seemed to be engaged in some sort of debate. Wynne had already set a plate for him, he noticed. Smiling he kissed her cheek in greeting and sat. The table was full: Greagoir wasn’t expected tonight, apparently. As much as he’d been urging the Knight Commander to dine with his men more—and allow Elynna to engage in the usual dinnertime antics that the apprentices all delighted in-- tonight the man certainly needed the time with his daughter.

                “…I sincerely doubt that they’ll think about sending anyone here. They never remember Ferelden.” Torrin addressed Bran in his usual cautious manner.

                “Senior Torrin, mark me, with what just happened there’ll be a witch hunt though the clergy ranks. The grand clerics will one and all send the Templars to try to root out as many maleficarum as possible, and the burnings will start again. Malcontents from the tower that can be sent to Aeonar to be ‘checked’ for possession will be manufactured. Believe me—“

                Callum uncharacteristically interrupted, “They can try to rustle up some malcontents here, but you know as well as I do that the Knight Commander won’t stand for it. And that, my friend, is where the problem is. Greagoir refuses to play the game—all of us do, really. He’ll stand with the First Enchanter…” Callum paused, looking sheepish. He’d forgotten Irving had seated himself.

“The point is, this Tower is united and won’t offer up scapegoats to assuage the wounded pride of the Grand Cleric, if the Seekers turn their gaze to Ferelden. We’ll bring them down upon ourselves because of how things are here. Maker, just look at us here. Mages and Templars eating dinner—civilly—with one another.”

Irving listened intently. He took a swig from his glass of wine. The vintage was a good one, a white wine from Tevinter. He noted that Wynne was doing the same, as much observing the mage and Templar as listening to the conversation.

Senior Enchanter Sweeney looked troubled. He coughed, “I think you’re underestimating the scale of the response to this. It wasn’t merely Grand Cleric Callista, but the Knight Commander of White Spire itself. Beatrix has elevated that girl, the Hero of Orlais to Right Hand of the Divine… A post almost always held by the Knight Vigilant. The Templars are out of favor—the Knights Divine will be purged, every Knight Commander will be scrutinized. It’s true, Orlais will bear the brunt of the fallout, but even poor, backwards Ferelden will feel the effects. Oh no, it won’t merely be the Grand Cleric trying to save her hide: every Templar officer will be scrambling as well. Those mages that helped the Hero stop the attack have already been forgotten… There’ll be blood and a lot of it: Circle mages are sitting ducks for what is to come.”

Sweeney paused and added a bit more darkly, “That’s just with what we have to contend with in the Circle; any apostate who knows what he’s about will have already gone to ground. That lot is sensitive to the changing winds, or they better be if they want to live… No what I really do fear, is how the common folk will respond. A blood mage tried to sick a dragon on the Most Holy herself and slaughtered scores of innocent pilgrims. They’ll be seeing mages in every dark shadow, innocents will die. Mage children who should be given to the Templars will never make it to the Tower’s walls. That’s always been true, but I fear how damaging this event will be.

A long silence greeted those words. Whatever their opinion of their jailers, in any circle, the mages were always indebted to the Templars for acting as their protectors, particularly for the young children found to have the gift. Irving’s own story was far from unusual: most parents rid themselves of a mage child and never spoke of them again, seeing a monster rather than a helpless child. A significant number of instances, thankfully rarer overall, resulted in deaths that seemed far from accidental; the Templars intervened to save mage children from their own parents more often than not. Knight-Corporal Eathric had a close bond with Kinnon because of such an incident. Irving often wondered how the Libertarians intended to fill that void if their hare-brained schemes for independence ever succeeded: the mundanes would never learn to not fear mages, and a free Circle would lack the authority and resources of the Chantry to protect those poor children. These new tensions would surely test them all as the Templars felt less inclined to act as protectors and the mundanes became more and more paranoid.

“We need to do something. We cannot merely sit here and allow a slaughter to happen.” Wynne spoke with utter conviction, her presence suddenly commanding the table. Not for the first time Irving wished she had accepted the role of First Enchanter, rather than handing it to him. She was a firebrand, a born leader whose clear wisdom was only increasing as the years passed. He smiled to himself: she’d never stay cooped up if she could find adventures elsewhere. More importantly he wasn’t entirely certain that she’d been able to stomach working in close capacity with the father of her son.

“Oh? What do you suggest Wynne? That we send out our own Templars and a group of volunteer mages to sit in random villages? Provoking the ire of the other two chapters of the Templar Order as well as being utterly useless? These attacks will be random. We cannot be in every small hamlet, just waiting to scoop up a child or stop a witch hunt. No, there is nothing we can do.” Sweeney looked defeated saying that. Maker knew the man had run through scenarios in his head himself already. But he was right. They couldn’t predict the future, they couldn’t anticipate random attacks.

Irving rubbed his temples: there was perhaps a small thing they could do. “I’ll send a bird to King Maric. There’s little enough that we can do, that is true… But the King may not have anticipated what is on the horizon. He has the resources, the troops that we do not. They can intervene. We ultimately still must rely on Templar Hunters to bring the children in, but they won’t ignore the King’s soldiers outright.”

Relief shone on the face of all those at the table. They had anticipated this remaining amongst the various Chantry factions… But this could work. It was all they could do.

The rest of the meal proved enjoyable. Irving enjoyed the company of all those here, often wishing he had more time with his friends: beyond the daily griping with Greagoir, the administrative duties and tending to his child, both in her education and well-being, dinner was one of his few escapes. Perhaps one of these days he’d finally succeed in giving his position to Wynne and he’d be the one running around the countryside doing Maker knows what. He smiled at her as the thought crossed his mind. She raised an eyebrow at him, but soon refocused her attention on the conversation. Irving felt her hand slip into his under the table. No, perhaps he’d stay right here. This was as near to perfect as he could think of, anyways.

****

                Seated at the table in his chambers across from his daughter, Greagoir studied his wine for a long moment and chose to gulp it down. He refilled his glass and repeated. Elynna coughed and looked at him, puzzled.

                “Well.” Greagoir nodded nervously.

                “Father, are you okay?” Elynna reached across the table, putting a concerned hand on his arm. And now he was scaring her. Perfect. This shouldn’t be this difficult. Irving was right, she should be able to tell him anything.

                “Well… Your father tells me that you’ve, ummm, had your first moonblood…” Greagoir tried to maintain eye contact and failed. He noticed his daughter was blushing and cringing. Well, at least it was awkward all around.

                “Look, sweetling, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, but this is a fairly important moment in your life, as a young lady. I want you to be able to come tell me about anything without fearing that I won’t take it well. I won’t pretend I’m as comfortable with all things female as your father, but I’ll listen, and try to answer any questions you have about anything.”

                Elynna was still making a face, raptly studying her plate. Well, that was to be expected.

“Well. Now that I’ve made dinner uncomfortable… What are these little birds?” Greagoir gestured to the small collection of paper birds that she’d lined up on the table before dinner.

Elynna lit up and looked at them in concentration. Greagoir watched with not a little wonder as she made them delicately float. She slowly made them fly in a circle around Greagoir’s head before letting them drop around him. Greagoir picked one out of his lap and studied it, smiling. He looked up at his daughter, stood and kissed her forehead. Seeing those green eyes light up and that shy smile warmed his heart. Dinner proceeded normally from there, his girl chattering away as she often did.

“Father, they say she’s only six years only than I am!” Elynna’s smile was contagious: while Greagoir returned it, he’d missed what she’d been going on about.

“Who, dear?”

She pouted at him and he laughed at her efforts. “Ugh. Father! Pay attention!”

“Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast! The Hero of Orlais—she saved the Divine at the Ten Year Gathering… Grand Cleric Callista and Knight Commander Martel were conspiring with a blood mage and tried to kill the Divine. But Seeker Cassandra stopped them—stopped a Dragon!”

Elynna sighed, “I wish I could be a Seeker,“ Greagoir choked on his wine at that one, “Or a Knight. A Grey Warden, maybe…. I wish I could leave the Tower, see the world and fight Dragons and darkspawn and things. It all seems so exciting.” She looked away dreamily.

“But that’s not going to happen, is it, Father? I get to stay locked up in this tower forever. What’s the use of being a mage if I never do anything useful with my magic?” She frowned at him.

Studying his wine again the Knight Commander began to wish she’d volunteered something for the awkward sex discussion instead of this. His duty so often pitted him against Irving and Elynna both and had destroyed his relationship with Wynne and his infant son. But in his heart, he deeply believed in the values of the Order, if not always the methods that others used. Like Alyrienne’s death, his duty and feelings on this topic would only continue to drive a wedge between him and his daughter.

He started cautiously, “Elynna… The outside world isn’t a kind one for mages. You’re safe here. Loved. Your family is here, would you truly be able to leave us behind?”

“Father that’s not… I didn’t mean I wanted to be an apostate or anything. I wish I hadn’t been born with magic. Or at least that I could leave the Tower, and come back or something.”

“Oh? If you hadn’t been born with magic you still wouldn’t have any of us here. You’d be some noble’s daughter, probably with your hand promised to some noble’s son. A different cage, but one all the same. As for leaving the Tower… Wait until your Harrowing. We can’t allow untrained apprentices to be set loose in the world, Sweetling. It’s too dangerous for both you and the common folk. Your father rarely denies requests to leave anyways, and he’d certainly never deny you. Just be patient.” Elynna rolled her eyes at that last statement, nearly before the words were out of Greagoir’s mouth. Greagoir tried to coax a smile out of her, cupping her cheek: she obliged. She’d never had it in her to be a truly difficult child.

Later, sitting in his armchair by the fire, as was his usual custom, Elynna had seated herself in his lap, curled up against his chest. Greagoir put his arms around her, hugging her close, a thing that was becoming harder to accomplish the taller she grew, though he’d never breathe a word about that to her. Irving’s words began to gnaw at his mind though… Perhaps she was indeed getting a bit too old for this.

“Elynna…”

“Yes, Father?” Elynna simply snuggled closer.

“Sweetling, perhaps you should read by the fire… You’re getting to be a bit too old for snuggling with me I think.”

“Oh.” Elynna’s voice was small and held a great deal of hurt. She complied, though, and read a book by the fire, not looking at Greagoir.

Greagoir rose from the chair and knelt down by his little girl, cupping her cheek to turn her face torwards him. Tears stained her cheeks and his heart fell into his stomach.

“Fuck this. I absolutely cannot do this; Irving’s wrong.” He muttered to himself, though a bit too loudly. Elynna’s eyes widened at his profanities and she cringed, misinterpreting.

He gathered her into his arms and kissed her cheek, “Forget what I said, little one. Someone suggested to me that perhaps you are too old for… Well, I really don’t care. You can snuggle with Papa for as long as you like. Just…. Maybe let me know when you think you’re too big?

“And if I never am…?” There was something plaintive in her voice that pulled at his heart. Wasn’t there always though, he thought ruefully. He’d never had it in him to make her unhappy without cause.

“Fine by me, sweetling. Even when I’m a creaky, cranky eighty year old and you’re forty with a child of your own, you can still cuddle with me.

“I love you papa.” Elynna hugged him tight and planted a kiss on his cheek. He rose and lifted her to her feet as well.

“I love you too, dear.” He settled back onto his chair, and she predictably returned to his lap.

“Elynna, wake up.” Greagoir heard Irving’s voice and blinked awake. His back was cramped, neck was stiff and his leg was asleep. Elynna was still curled up on his lap, slowly waking to Irving’s voice.

She rose quickly and that awful pins and needles feeling flooded his leg. He winced and tried to stretch it slowly. Looking up he saw that disapproving look on the mage’s face. They’d be having a long discussion tomorrow. Hmph. Simply another thing to argue about, it seemed.

Rising somewhat unsteadily and attempting to not set off the pain in his leg he kissed Elynna goodnight and watched Irving escort her out of the room, back to the apprentice quarters. Irving was right, in a way. She was growing, getting older. But none of it was going to happen overnight. One moment she’d be excelling at her spells, or even, Maker forbid, flirting with the young men of the Tower. But the next she’d undoubtedly be an uncertain, unsteady child at her core.

He began to bank the fire and tidy up his sparse sitting room. If Irving wished to push her, he could. But in those faltering moments when the young child shone through, he’d be there to steady her, to reassure her, as he always had.

Satisfied that everything was in order, he retired to his bedroom, stripping off his clothes before climbing into bed. As with every night he mentally reviewed what needed to be done the next day, eventually counting to himself to fall asleep. It was easier that way, he’d learned, to keep himself distracted in those moments when he was alone. To keep himself from dwelling on how painfully empty and lonely his bed was every night.He did allow himself one small indulgence as sleep began to settle over him: he silently prayed to the Maker to watch over them all, and to keep his boy safe, wherever he was.


	14. Unshaken By the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:23 Dragon

By age twelve Elynna had slowly begun to pull away from the circle of adults that supported her, as was natural. She ceased gaining new brothers amongst the incoming Templars and began to eye them differently; the young Templars tended to join the garrison at age 15, which caused Greagoir trouble to no end. Her fellow male apprentices began to catch her eye as well; any man under age 20 soon became a target of her inept flirtations. At age thirteen, however, this became a bit more serious for both Greagoir and Irving as Elynna began to take on a woman’s form and spent more and more time questioning Wynne, and less time confiding in them. A new Templar, Brynden, began to take notice of her as well, though never openly.

After a particularly rough sparring match with Greagoir, Elynna sat alone in the Templar’s practice area, catching her breath and waiting for Greagoir to remove his own armor. They typically still spent some time talking after sparring and Elynna still enjoyed having a quiet moment with her outwardly stern adoptive father. She noticed, however, that she was not as quite alone as she imagined. In the shadows she thought she could see Caroll; while the 15 year old Templar was annoying he had had a few interesting things to teach her about kissing- particularly Orlesian style. Gauging that her father would be at least another 10 minutes, Elynna walked over to the figure she thought was Carroll, near the stairs to the Great Hall.

Elynna realized too late that the figure was not Carroll, but Brynden. Before she could apologize for disturbing him, Brynden had clamped his hand over Elynna’s mouth and dragged her to the staircase, closing the door. Elynna hadn’t given much thought to why a Templar in his thirties had been reassigned to Kinloch Hold from White Spire, and in her terror she regretted it. He had her pinned to the wall, awkwardly attempting to part his robes, and keep her silent. He had clearly removed his gauntlets earlier, as she could feel his hands on her breasts after he tore the front of her robe. Elynna was attempting to use the awkward footing on the staircase to her advantage as he tried to get between her legs. Brynden cursed and momentarily used the hand covering her mouth to hold her legs; Elynna shrieked at the top of her lungs for help. Brynden slammed his fist into her head the moment that the Knight Commander opened the door, the entire garrison behind him. Brynden dropped Elynna, running towards the Great Hall. Bran and Caroll, guarding the bottom of the stairs came rushing up and apprehended Brynden, dragging him back up to the Templar Quarters. Greagoir unpinned his cloak, covering his daughter and carrying her back to his rooms, panic and anger warring on his face. When he returned to the practice area, however, it was clear that anger had won out.

In the meantime Brynden had been stripped of his armour and weapons, sullenly looking at the floor. Upon seeing Greagoir, Brynden spat.

“Upset I got to play with your toy Commander? You can’t tell me she hasn’t been your bedwarmer for years… She’s a mage and a whore. Practically throws herself at men. Got what she deserved.” Sixty Templars shot Brynden murderous glances, awaiting the Knight-Commander’s orders.

Greagoir had settled into a cold rage. He passed his greatsword to the nearest Templar, drawing a wicked looking dagger and asked a Templar to give Brynden a blade. This would be settled without armor, without swords and without sanctions. The Templars made a circle.

Brynden sneered at Greagoir, “You’ve signed your death warrant old man.”

Greagoir declined to answer, instead getting low and slashing out at Brynden’s stomach, while punching him in the face. Brynden reeled and attempted to hit Greagoir, but was soon distracted by the fact that Greagoir had disemboweled him with his dagger. Attempting to collect his intestines, Greagoir was able to toy with Brynden, slashing him in non-vital areas before hamstringing him and removing Brynden’s hands. As the Templar screamed in agony on his knees, Greagoir tired of the spectacle and decapitated him.

Greagoir stood and requested that Carroll remove the remains and send for a mage to clean up the gory mess. He then addressed the Templars as a whole.  
“Any of you ever have any ideas about forcing yourselves on my daughter will suffer a worse fate, after I’ve had time to get creative. As will anyone caught forcing themselves on ANY of the mages in an unwanted fashion.” Greagoir barely raised his voice as he expressed this, calmly wiping his dagger clean and returning to his rooms. The following silence was oppressive.

***

As a result of various messy accidents during their sparring matches, Elynna has several robes stowed in Greagoir’s room, which she had changed into by the time Greagoir had returned. She was curled up on his bed, face an ashen gray color. Greagoir decided to say nothing of Brynden for the moment, instead reigning in his anger for her sake. He put his arms around her and she began sobbing and fiercely holding on to him. Irving entered the room, looking livid. He sat with his friend and the child they had raised, holding her in a somewhat awkward embrace between the three of them that had become normal over the years. After a time, Wynne entered and dismissed Irving and Greagoir.

In the other room, Greagoir sat with his head in his hands, while Irving paced, speaking in a low voice.

“How was it that the Knight-Commander at White Spire declined to inform you of the details of Brynden’s reassignment? Greagoir, she’s so… so young for this… What sort of man lays hands on a child like that? Maker have mercy… Did we all let up our guard when the rapes between Templars and mages ceased? Were we too complacent in the family this tower became? Greagoir, this… My little girl…” Irving became slightly incoherent, and Greagoir remained numb. Wynne appeared and gently closed the door behind her.

“Thank the Maker, but Brynden did not actually penetrate her. She’s shaken, but she’ll recover quickly. I gave her something to help her sleep without dreams. Greagoir, I assume you’re fine with losing your bed for tonight?”

At Wynne’s question Greagoir raised his head, “I didn’t expect to sleep much Wynne.” He strode over to where his greatsword was and brought it back to his seat opposite his door, beginning to sharpen the blade single-mindedly. Wynne gave him a worried look and turned to Irving.

“I will likely remain here as well, Wynne… I just need to find that book…” Wynne sighed and privately thought that Irving and Greagoir might come out of this worse for wear than Elynna.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:24 Dragon

Drifting in and out of sleep, Elynna’s mind registered that her bed was quite warm and cozy and that she didn’t particularly want to leave it. A second thought drifted through her hazy mind as she realized that she never really had been allowed to revel in this sort of indulgence. Usually other apprentices chattering or a watchful Templar would ensure that all apprentices generally woke with the dawn. Unless…

Her eyes popped open and she sprung up out of bed, realizing what day it was. She was quiet and did not disturb the other sleeping girls as she fetched her things to bring over to the dressing area. Her Uncle Hadley was on duty in the dormitory and he put a finger to his lips, emphasizing that she allow the others to sleep. She changed into her apprentice blues in the bathing area and hurriedly brushed her hair, combing it furiously as if attacking it. Satisfied that it was neat, though loose, Elynna rushed to put her night chemise away and sprinted towards the Great Hall, remembering to kiss her uncle as she left.

“Happy Satinalia, Uncle!” Hadley grinned at her enthusiasm for the holiday and whispered well wishes to her as well. The halls were mostly empty but for the lone Templars on duty. Everyone who was awake would be found in the Great Hall.

Elynna tried to be unobtrusive as she entered the Hall, slipping away to a classroom where she had hidden presents for her fathers, uncles, friends and Aunt Wynne. As with so many of the apprentices, she’d spent the year trading trinkets and crafting for the formari in order to accumulate the presents. Only a few apprentices had any real coin. Those like Finn, or Flora as they liked to call him, whose parents hadn’t abandoned them as freaks, tended to be better off in terms of pocket money. Though Elynna had Irving and Greagoir, both preferred that she be as self-sufficient as the other apprentices. And this year Aunt Wynne had spent hours with the young girl, teaching her to knit to supplement her meager coin.

She felt around the alcove that she’d cast a glamor on. Everything was still there, so she restored the charm and slipped out of the room. The Great Hall was still relatively empty as everyone but the most eager continued to take advantage of the holiday to sleep in. Not seeing Greagoir or Irving amongst those few cheerily eating breakfast, Elynna headed back down the stairs to the First Enchanter’s rooms.

Elynna carefully made her way through the not-particularly-organized chaos of Irving’s sitting room to get to the bedroom. She opened the door slowly, wincing at the creaking hinges, and poked her head in. The First Enchanter was snoring loudly; Elynna smiled as she wistfully remembered all those nights when she was young and the elderly mage had read her a story and tucked her in beside him with her eventually falling asleep to those loud snores.

She crept over to his bedside and knelt down to put herself at a level with his face. Resisting an impulse to tug at her father’s awfully impressive beard, Elynna gently touched his cheek. Studying him for a moment she was able to discern how much younger he looked as he slept, how much tension he carried every day. She kissed his brow and soon felt him stirring. Warm brown eyes soon met her clear, bright green ones, as did a smile on the old Enchanter’s face.  
Irving sat up and gestured to Elynna to sit on the edge of the bed. He put his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

“Happy Satinalia, Papa,” Elynna happily chirped.

“Happy Satinalia, child.” Irving stretched and began to rise, shooing Elynna out so he might prepare for the day. She decided she’d try to see if Greagoir had risen instead of waiting for Irving, and so ran up to the Templar Quarters. Upon seeing his empty sitting room, Irving sighed and muttered about the impatience of youth.

Elynna was breathless by the time she flung open the door to Greagoir’s rooms. Unsurprisingly, though somewhat disappointingly for Elynna, the Knight Commander had already risen and was sipping tea at the table. He was dressed in a blue tunic worked in silver around the cuffs and collar. Elynna always privately thought he looked very regal in it and wished he’d take it out more often instead of perversely dressing in all grey when not in his Templar uniform.

“Child, come here.” Greagoir gestured to the seat beside him as he rose and retrieved the hairbrush from the wash stand, repeating their daily ritual without pause. She sat demurely as he braided her hair, enjoying the sensation of someone playing with her hair. Wynne had been at her to change her hairstyle to something a bit more adult, and Elynna had seriously been considering it. But over the years, having her father fix it for her had become a comfort of sorts and she was loathe to give that up. Neither usually spoke as he worked, but Greagoir was always gentle and seemed to know that it was soothing to her, taking his time instead of employing his efficient practicality. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes began to droop as she felt the rhythmic strokes putting her in that fuzzy, golden daze of comfort. She soon felt Greagoir’s hand on her back, holding her up as she’d begun to lean backward. She leaned forward and let him finish, tying off the braid with a thong overlaid with a ribbon, as usual.

Elynna turned around and threw her arms around him excitedly, “Happy Satinalia, father!”

“Umph. Happy Satinalia my dear,” Elynna began to tug at Greagoir to get him moving towards the door.

“Easy, child. Let me set down my tea… I’m coming, I’m coming,” Greagoir chuckled, thinking that his little girl had never lost any of her excitement for the holiday over the years.

“Father’s already up and is probably in the Great Hall already… Let’s go!” Elynna hauled Greagoir down to the Great Hall. As expected, Irving was already seated at the high table with the Senior Enchanters and the Templar officers. Only Greagoir and the Revered Mother’s seats were empty. Irving laughed when he saw Elynna dragging Greagoir into the hall. She and Greagoir soon separated as she took her place amongst the apprentices, and he at the high table.  
Elynna sat on the end of the table, next to Jowan, and began eagerly chatting with her friends. Anders soon threw a roll at Petra and Kinnon, who were kissing on the other side of Jowan while Niall attempted to keep some order amongst all of them. Elynna traded a look with him as Anders continued his escapades, Neria cheering him on and Kinnon shooting him a dark look. Jowan looked resigned: he was almost always the butt of everyone’s pranks on Satinalia, and he was simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. Elynna hugged him, coaxing a smile out of him. Across the table from Elynna Keili seemed uncomfortable with all the banter, but soon brightened as the Revered Mother entered, taking her place at the center of the high table, between the First Enchanter and mages and the Knight Commander and Templars.

The room fell silent as she began her sermon. As usual she emphasized community, forgiveness and charity, as well as appreciating the different roles the maker has given us. It was difficult to be the Revered Mother in the Tower, but Matilde was loved by mages and Templars alike, for the most part. She recognized what Greagoir and Irving had built and did her part to reinforce it. She soon finished to a polite round of applause, seating herself as the Knight Commander rose to begin his speech.

“Thank you, Mother Matilde. I would like to begin by wishing all those assembled a happy Satinalia. That begin said, I would like to encourage those here to please moderate their pranks… Carroll, if I find another raccoon in my chambers, heads will roll.” Greagoir managed to grin and scowl at the Templar, who was bright red.

“Ser, I didn’t do it, I swear!” Carroll’s denial brought roars of laughter from the Templars and mages, particularly from the end of the apprentice table where Elynna’s friends were all seated. Elynna stood.

“Poor Carroll… I’m sorry, Father… I never thought it would take ownership of your good breeches.” Elynna’s eyes gleamed wickedly, belying her apology as she laughed. The room erupted with laughter again as the raccoon incident of last Satinalia was relived, and the culprit was finally revealed. Greagoir shook his head, grinning wryly at his daughter and shooting the First Enchanter a look; the two of them tended to be partners in crime. Irving ignored Greagoir and rather obviously winked at Elynna.

Greagoir rolled his eyes and continued. “Ahem. Well then. My apologies Carroll. As for you, young lady… We’ll talk about this after the holiday… At length.” The rowdiness of those assembled began to subside as Greagoir spoke.

“Now, once again I must say that I am inordinately proud to be Knight Commander here at Kinloch Hold. I know my colleagues at the other Circles would deliver some sort of sermon about Temperance right now, but I think that’s inappropriate here. What we’ve done here, mage and Templar both, is forge a community. While it isn’t perfect, I do believe that here we have come the farthest in being able to advance the principles of the Chant of Light, in treating magic with caution but recognizing it is indeed a gift from the Maker that should be used. Over this past year, as in nearly every year I’ve been Knight Commander, I can say that incidences of violence between mages and Templars are nearly nonexistent. In contrast to the rest of Thedas, here I stand as Knight Commander with a daughter who is a mage, who calls nearly every Templar Uncle. And yet, it is not an exception, but an example of the community we have. We are a family, and I can honestly say I would not rather be anywhere else than here, celebrating Satinalia amongst you all.”

Applause greeted Greagoir’s warm words, reinforcing the good cheer that emanated from the room. The Knight Commander seated himself and the First Enchanter stood.

“Well, between the Knight Commander and the Revered Mother, I seem to be left with little to say, though I daresay that all of you prefer that I keep this short and sweet. In deference to that, all I have to say is Happy Satinalia to every one of you. Now eat!” Irving seated himself looking rather smug. Both Greagoir and Matilde looked exasperated at Irving as the room erupted with chatter as everyone began to eat breakfast.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:25 Dragon

At age fifteen Elynna Amell had become an accomplished mage and swordswoman. While she would never handle a greatsword as the Templars do, she was quick and deadly with a longsword and had mastered many of the advanced spells of primal magic. At Greagoir’s urging she now carried her longsword at all times and slept with a dagger; Irving equally forced her to hone her warding spells with creating some fairly complicated- and nasty- glyphs. Yet since that night two years earlier, Elynna had more than recovered with the support of her friends, Petra, Kinnon, Jowan, and Niall.

Gone were the days when Niall attempted to lose Elynna; he spent many of his waking hours carefully courting her, aware, as all were, of what had happened. He conjured her roses and traded one of the older mages for a simple gold necklace to give to Elynna. Jowan gently teased her about Niall’s affections and Petra thought he was sweet; Wynne more than approved and talked sense into both Greagoir and Irving when they began talking about attempting to put Elynna back in the senior mage quarters under Irving’s supervision.

And so Niall healed what Brynden had nearly shattered, as two youths began to shyly kiss and explore each other, intoxicated by the simplicity of young love. While Niall would break off their relationship after his Harrowing, as each other’s first they retained a great deal of affection for each other.

Before Niall’s Harrowing and after one of their many liaisons, they lay talking as they were tangled up in each other. Elynna propped herself up to look at Niall, an action that was wasted as he rolled on top of her and kissed her. “Niall, stop being distracting,” Elynna giggled.

Niall grinned and continued kissing her until Elynna shifted and they were side by side again. “Niall, have you noticed Jowan acting oddly lately?”

Niall groaned, “I don’t want to talk about Jowan right now Elynna… Men in general, really…”

Elynna gave him a serious glare and Niall gave in. “I’m serious Niall. Rhonus has him doing all sorts of odd things lately and Jowan won’t explain any of it.”

Niall chewed his lip and answered slowly, “I had noticed that. Wynne has too, in fact. I think she’s going to talk to Rhonus about it. I’m sure it’s nothing: Rhonus has always been a bit strange.”

Elynna made a face, “I’ve never liked Rhonus… Something about him just doesn’t sit well with me.”

Niall laughed, grabbed her wrists and kissed her again, attempting to push the conversation back to his original intentions, “Dear Elynna, you didn’t like Rhonus because he wasn’t Irving. You’d say the same about Wynne if you were paired with her at first; but because you were such a brat, you fought and ended re-apprenticed to your father.”

“Brat? Niall, really…” Niall began to kiss her and let his hands wander her body, causing her to end her arguments with moans of pleasure instead.

“Mhmmmm… Oh fine, I give. Though clearly, you Niall, are the brat”

Niall’s grin went from ear to ear this time, “Anything you say.”

***

When Elynna turned sixteen Niall successfully underwent his Harrowing. Elynna waited nervously at the base of the stair with Jowan and Kieli during the ordeal, hoping that Niall would be alright. As the door opened, Niall descended the stairs first and Elynna raced upward to congratulate him with a kiss that was a bit longer than Greagoir or Irving were likely comfortable with. Niall smiled at her, though somewhat sadly. He looked to Wynne who nodded.

Later that night Elynna approached Wynne, tears rolling down her cheeks. Inevitably, Niall had thought it best to break things off now that he was a full mage. Wynne comforted Elynna and then ruefully admitted that she had advised Niall to do so. Wynne’s admission would create a chasm between them that would not be bridged for several years.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold, 9:28 Dragon

Greagoir’s hands shook as he went through another requisition order. He could reliably tell time by his withdrawal symptoms at this point. Forty-three years of lyrium ingestion had taken its toll. It prevented him from aging as quickly as Irving had—Greagoir still looked to be in his late forties, not the fifty-seven years he was, and he hadn’t nearly so many complaints as the enchanter did either. He was still in fighting trim and could still take down a cohort of blood mages without flinching. Yet now he needed the blue liquid six times a day, keeping vials around his chambers and his study to stop the shakes before they became bad and the hallucinations began. Six vials a day was also the maximum allotted per Templar: any more than that and the addict would be shipped to a hospice at White Spire. The Chantry sisters cared for those poor souls: denied their lyrium they simply wasted away, a gibbering, sobbing wreck.

It had been some time since Kinloch Hold had any Templars so addicted. Greagoir began weaning his recruits off the stuff as soon as he received them. It was a hard process and broke many of those boys, but soon he was able to adjust them to one vial a week, rather than one a day. They kept their abilities to track and restrain mages, but were no longer ‘on the leash’ as they called it. The knight Commander had realized that it was often the lyrium addling the Templars, turning boys who were once true to their duties to the sadists that he’d fought to remove from the Tower. It was Greagoir’s hope that in addition to preventing the nightmarish environment that the tower previously fostered that he could give his men the chance to die in peace, to die as a man hopefully in their own beds, with their mind intact.

The real problem was the Templars who had been in the tower since Gavin was Knight Commander. Nearly all of those who had been close to Greagoir in age had long since gone to White Spire. Bran and he were the only ones in their late fifties at the Tower, the next youngest being Callum at 51. The Chantry could not quite fathom how the two of them were still able to function, as they should be ‘retired’.

Given that Kinloch Hold tended towards healers, it shouldn’t have been surprising. Yet that those mages would help the Templars was inconceivable to the Chantry. They used the natural prejudices they fostered in the Templar recruits in the monasteries against them. But Greagoir’s connection to Irving and Wynne had meant that they had found a way to slow the effects of the addiction. Wynne's desire that Greagoir not be allowed to forget his pain in losing her and their son had only provided her with incentive to continue helping him, to make certain he was not absolved of his betrayal through lyrium-induced dementia. While Greagoir and Bran still needed the maximum doses, they would never step over that line. The younger Templars also needed less because of what the mages had accomplished.

Greagoir took out a vial of lyrium and the foul concoction that Wynne had made and drank them together, as always wincing at the taste. Greagoir idly wondered if Wynne made his taste like druffalo piss on purpose; the other men never seemed to complain about theirs.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:28 Dragon

A new Templar came to the tower not long after Elynna’s eighteenth birthday. He was of an age with Elynna, and had clearly never lived outside the cloisters since puberty. Elynna was naturally fascinated with Cullen; his stammering around her and complete propriety- combined with a healthy fear of the Knight-Commander- made him a challenge for her, one that Greagoir actually approved of (likely due to Greagoir’s ability to put the fear of the Maker in the boy very easily). 

Cullen found life in Kinloch Hold to be strange, to say the least. Elynna was an uncertainty he had no idea how to handle. While the camaraderie between the mages and Templars wasn’t entirely unwelcome, it was unexpected, as was the casual nature of love among the mages- and not a few of the Templars, a thing that was clearly forbidden by the Chantry, but mostly overlooked by Greagoir. And while he more than appreciated the dark-haired mage girl’s attentions, he was never quite sure how to react, and would find a duty somewhere else when he started experiencing some… interesting… feelings. 

Elynna noted this and found ways to corner Cullen, stealing kisses with him that he ineptly, though hungrily returned. During one of these encounters she began to grind her hips against him, eliciting a, “Dear Maker!” from Cullen as well as a rather red face. Having embarrassed himself thoroughly that day, Cullen attempted to take duties elsewhere to avoid Elynna, though he still wanted her. Greagoir and Irving found Elynna’s latest attempt at love amusing, to say the least, and both would actively, humorously needle Cullen, turning the poor boy a violent shade of red. Niall, however, wasn’t blind to how fast Elynna had rebounded from him, causing him no end of regret.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:28 Dragon

“Again.” Elynna was beginning to hate that word. She glared at her father who coolly returned her stare with a raised eyebrow. She wasn’t leaving until she’d perfected the paralysis spell, clearly. Having her father as her teacher was beginning to cause a great deal of friction after lesson hours as he continued to push her about her spellwork. Increasingly Elynna began to go to Greagoir in the evenings, if only to rant about Irving being a slave driver. She tried the spell yet again, adjusting her focus slightly.

“Better. We’ll do more later on. Go get some dinner and tell Greagoir how horrible I am and meet me in my rooms.”

Elynna had shortsightedly forgotten that the two were as close as brothers and anything she told Greagoir would be relayed to Irving. She blushed furiously, “Father… I.. er…”

“Relax, child. I’d be more worried if you weren’t complaining, based on how badly you’re doing. It means you still care at least. It’s no picnic on my end either. But I would in fact be as bad as you make me out to be if I didn’t continue to work at it with you. Now go.”

Elynna left Irving’s study and hung her head guiltily as she headed up the stairs to the Great Hall. Scattered around eating were groups of apprentices, mages and Templars, often in mixed groups. She spied Hadley with Leorah and a few of her apprentices and waved. Going through the room she returned the warm smiles and nods that mage and Templar alike sent her way. She frowned when she saw that Jowan wasn’t sitting with their friends—he was at a table in a corner with the enchanters Uldred, Rhonus, Gravid, Prist and their apprentices along with a few other enchanters. There were no Templars or other mages or apprentices seated near them and something about that isolation in this hall where camaraderie ran high made her uneasy. Not watching where she was going, she walked straight into Anders.

“There are better—and more interesting—ways of getting my attention than knocking me over, Elynna.” Anders laughed as he untangled himself from their collision and Elynna blushed furiously. As the young mage had aged he’d gone to great lengths to differentiate himself from the tower mages. While a good many mages took pride in their appearance, Anders went a few steps beyond that. 

Beardless, blond hair gathered into a ponytail and a small hoop earring marked him as something different in a tower full of bearded, greasy haired male mages. He’d also found some Tevinter style robes somewhere, and brought them out whenever he felt the need to taunt the Templars. Every last apprentice around Elynna’s age, and not a few of the older mages, male and female, found that Anders caught their eye. The boy was a rebel who repeatedly escaped and was constantly wrangling with the Templars about freedom for the mages. It was a thought Elynna had never really considered before, and one that made her vaguely uneasy and more than a little confused. Her world was built upon the community of mages and Templars living in harmony and she didn’t see much wrong with it. But Anders had temporarily been transferred to Starkhaven after an escape attempt, and the things he described made Elynna wonder about the other mages and Templars in Thedas. Her own experience with Brynden had left a scar as well; thinking that that sort of brutality was daily life at Starkhaven made Elynna’s heart bleed for the mages. But there was nothing she could do, nothing that her fathers could do to help them without destroying their own little haven. It was evident that such barbarian practices were expected if not openly encouraged in the other circles by the Chantry.

“I… er… hi?” Elynna was soon cursing herself, thinking that she sounded like an idiot. This awkward situation was compounded when she saw Cullen heading towards the two of them. The young Templar offered her a hand and glared at Anders, thinking he’d been the cause of this.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Templar. It was a simple accident and she’s alright.” Anders stood up and dusted himself off, giving Elynna a brief smile. She wondered what precisely it would take to get his attention when she saw his face subtly shift as he looked behind her. Elynna turned her head and saw Anders give a rather sweet smile to Enchanter Karl. She’d had no idea the two were together. It wasn’t really scandalous as Anders had recently been Harrowed, and most if not all the mages engaged in play with both sexes. It was simply disappointing. Elynna sighed and turned back, momentarily forgetting Cullen as she’d been wrapped up in Anders. But seeing the young Templar’s shy smile made her disappointment melt away. Cullen was a good lad: smart and sweet as well as skilled at arms. It was with good reason that the female mages of Kinloch Hold who sought long term commitments usually ended up in the arms of a Templar. 

“Umm… Did you nee- nee- need any help, Elynna?” Cullen was blushing as he stuttered. Elynna put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. She noticed his breath quickened and he tried to pull away carefully. His face was flushed bright red.

“Thank you Cullen, but no. I’m just going to the Templar quarters to meet Father for dinner.” Elynna though for a moment, “I’m sure he wouldn’t object if you joined us.”

Cullen looked slightly panicked, and Elynna felt bad for a moment. Greagoir was fairly strict with his rank and file templars, with really only Hadley, Bran and Callum knowing the man behind the grim mask. Cullen was clearly frightened of the older man and she made him nervous as well… To suggest that he be alone with both of them was a bit overwhelming for him.

“I… umm… I don’t think… I’ll walk you there… If you like…”

“That will be just fine Cullen. Perhaps another day? Father really isn’t as scary as you think. You’ll see.”

Cullen offered her his arm and she linked hers with his, noting that he was very careful with her, no doubt not wanting to bruise her on his armor. They walked in companionable silence, sneaking glances at each other, and Cullen looking away whenever he met her eyes. Soon they were outside the Knight Commander’s rooms. Cullen clearly was uncomfortable being in the Officer’s barracks, and he politely said good night to the mage girl. Elynna decided he wasn’t getting away that easily and gave him a relatively chaste kiss on the lips, making Cullen turn an even brighter shade of red and leave with a smile on his face.

Callum was lounging in the Officer’s Common Room outside the door and gave a slight cough and shook his head at her antics.

“Uncle, really. Stop.”

“Girl, that poor boy isn’t going to know up from down when you’re through with him. He grew up in a small village and has spent the last few years cloistered—breaking his heart is going to hurt him a hell of a lot more than a fling with one of your young mage boys.” Elynna bit her lip and nodded at Callum. He was right, she’d have to be very careful with Cullen if she decided to pursue him. Callum patted her shoulder and knocked at Greagoir’s door.

“Knight-Commander? Your daughter is here to see you, sir.”

“Come in.” Greagoir’s clipped voice answered Callum. Elynna opened the door and found her father seated at his desk, clad in black leather breeches and a grey tunic, still poring over paperwork. Dinner for two had been set at the table. He stretched and gave Elynna a weary smile when she entered, putting down the papers. Elynna closed the door behind her and went to join Greagoir at the table.

“Well, what was it today?” The humorous lilt in Greagoir’s voice betrayed the topic. He always thought her rants about Irving were entertaining. Then again, when she complained to Irving about the Knight Commander, the elderly mage always equally got a kick out of it. Elynna toyed with her food a bit before answering.

“A paralysis spell I still can’t quite get… And I know you told him. That’s cruel, Father.” Elynna stabbed at a piece of meat and starting eating, refusing to look at Greagoir. The Knight Commander just mirrored the First Enchanter’s earlier reaction and raised an eyebrow at his moody daughter.

“Well, I wanted to know if there was anything to what you had said. Or rather, why it’s been so difficult for you, lately. I know little enough about magic, but I do know that my little girl is very gifted.”

Once again Elynna felt sheepish for giving her father attitude, and looked up into his gray eyes. He brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and smiled.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t mention this, but I think it will do you some good to understand a few things. You’re actually exceeding expectations with the spells, according to Irving. He’s just been trying to see if you capable of doing the more intricate, advanced versions than the ones they generally teach apprentices. Your frustration comes from never having even learned the basic spell and being forced to grapple with materials that some of the senior enchanters find difficult.” While Greagoir may have been a Templar, the amount of pride in his voice at what she was doing was overwhelming. The generally taciturn old warrior had the largest grin on his face. She had a sneaking suspicion that if it weren’t likely to lead to a host of bad outcomes, Greagoir would be telling every last person he knew, from Kester to the Divine herself, about how great a mage his little girl was. She giggled at the juxtaposition of that very normal need to take pride in your children combined with the very odd life they all led at the tower. 

They continued to talk about a host of things over dinner, including a long conversation about Cullen. Finally Greagoir cleared the table, stacking the plates and cutlery in a tray to bring back to the Great Hall. Elynna rose to help but he waved off her offer. Rather than bidding her goodnight as was usual before Elynna returned for her second round of lessons with Irving before bed, Greagoir pulled Elynna over to his armchair in front of the fire and settled her in his lap.

Elynna raised an eyebrow at her father, thinking that it’d been quite some time since she’d sat like this with him. Normally she would lie on the floor in front of the fire reading while Greagoir ostensibly read, but usually slept, in his chair. She wasn’t about to complain, however. Being late for lessons was a certainly alright in her book. The haunted look in Greagoir’s eyes also quieted any urge for comment.

Greagoir put his arms around her and she laid her head on his shoulder, as she’d done so many times before.

“Elynna, child, what’s the earliest thing you remember?” She frowned at the question, wondering where this was leading.

She thought for a bit, but being so close to him, taking in the sharp, spicy spell he always had, triggered something in the deep recesses of her mind. “I remember you holding me. Wynne and Father and… Uldred? were there, maybe. You said you’d never let anything hurt me. I’d been scared. I don’t know why. But you made me feel safe… I didn’t even realize I had that memory until now… I was going to say playing Grey Wardens with you and Father, but I think that one isn’t as early… Was… Was that when I came to the Tower?”

She heard him inhale sharply and he held her closer. “Yes, child. You don’t remember anything before that? Not your parents? Your family? Kirkwall?”

Elynna frowned. She was from Kirkwall? That was odd. But she honestly couldn’t retrieve anything else from the far corners of her mind, though there was something in conjunction with that first day in the Tower that seemed to tickle the back of her consciousness.

“Nothing? I suppose that’s a mixed blessing.”Greagoir sighed, “Elynna, Irving has been considering bringing you to Kirkwall, to come to terms with where you come from before your Harrowing. I disagree with the idea fundamentally. You are a mage: you leave your old life behind when you come into the Circle. You in particular also have a loving family right here; no need to go scratching at old wounds that have cleanly healed. But he insists, and it’s likely why you’re being put through a crash course in advanced entropy right now.”

“We both agreed that if you don’t wish to go, it’s absolutely your choice. If you do, I need to write the Grand Cleric to get permission for you two to travel to Kirkwall.” Greagoir’s tone made it quite clear that he hoped she’d turn down the idea. But the very thought that she had a family she didn’t know about, that she’d likely been torn from, who perhaps missed her, was too fascinating to give up on. Leaving the tower was also a bonus—she’d perhaps be as widely travelled as Anders when she returned, and could tell him things about the Kirkwall Circle. Perhaps things were not as bad as Starkhaven there…  
Greagoir decided to get it over with then and there. “Child, if you choose to go, there are several things you must know. I for one cannot go with you; the Knight Commander of Kirkwall is fairly territorial and she’ll find it curious that I’m with you. And then there’s the matter of your blood father… I… insulted him rather badly when he brought you here. He was a fairly powerful man at the time, and I’ve no doubt I’d be placing you both in a lot of danger if he caught wind that I was there.”

Elynna’s curiosity was peaked. Her father was a powerful man? And what exactly had Greagoir done, and why? Her face must have been as an open book, as Greagoir gave her a look and once more held her closely as he spoke in answer to her unsaid questions. He shifted and began to stroke her hair as well. All sure signs that bad news was coming.

“When you came to the Tower… Elynna… Maker this is hard.” Greagoir looked at her face, with so much pain on his own. He stroked her cheek and kissed her forehead, resting his head on hers.

“You were so small… Such a pretty little child. When I saw what he’d done to you… By Andraste I could have killed him. You were strong even then. Didn’t complain at all. Your face…” Greagoir wasn’t making all that much sense, but she could see it was a particularly bad memory for him. Elynna tilted her head and kissed his cheek, then snuggled back into his shoulder.

“Maker help me… Your face was black and blue. The rest of you was likely marked as well. He’d been beating you, likely for no other reason than being a mage. I was so angry… I thoroughly thrashed him and tossed him in Lake Calenhad… I had to, for you. You weren’t even mine yet, but no man should do what he did…”

Elynna was a jumble of emotions. Out of that chaos, however, one thought rang clear. That fantasy of reunion with her blood family was destroyed. But it didn’t matter. 

They hadn’t needed to care, didn’t need to take an interest in what was ultimately another apprentice, but they had. Two old men, mage and Templar, yet friends for years, took on a two year old child as they entered their twilight years. They had clothed her, fed her, tucked her in at night, read her bed time stories, bathed her, braided her hair, taught her and loved her. They rarely raised their voices, never lifted a hand against her, but had held her, kissed her, and cuddled her for years. Listened to her dreams and fears, protected her and supported her. Her father… No. That man, her mother’s husband, had done none of those things. He’d beat her. Taken her far away from home.

Greagoir watched Elynna carefully. Tears were streaming down her face. She sat up suddenly and looked at him. He had no idea what she was thinking and it frightened him. She was breathing erratically, and looking at him, just looking.

“Father.” It was all she said and all she needed to. She then clung to him, sobbing. Greagoir found himself choking up as he clung back, not daring to loosen his grip. This was how Irving found them as he walked in, wondering where Elynna was.

“Did the mean old Knight Commander upset you, dear?” Irving always tried to make light of weighty matters. Greagoir reluctantly let go of Elynna and she clung to Irving, who had little idea of what had gone on. Greagoir stood and disappeared into his bedroom, reappearing with an armload of blankets and a few pillows, which he deposited on the floor in front of the fire. He motioned to Irving to sit on the floor with Elynna. The three of them attempted to arrange a somewhat comfortable spot on the floor with Elynna between Irving and Greagoir. She was still sniffling and had immediately clung to Irving again. Greagoir rubbed her back, humming softly. As predictably as when she was younger, she fell asleep. Greagoir covered her with a blanket and kissed her. The First Enchanter looked at Greagoir quizzically.

“What did you do?”

Greagoir rubbed his temples and sighed. “I told her about your idea to take her to Kirkwall. And about her father. She hasn’t said all that much, just cried, poor child.”

“I’m afraid this is exactly why she needs to go to Kirkwall. She’s eighteen years of age. She can’t simply collapse like this when things are too difficult. We’re not going to be around much longer, Greagoir. She can’t continue to climb in your lap and hope you make it all better when she’s thirty and you’re too old to swing a sword.”

Greagoir shot him a spiteful look. “Irving, as long as there is breath in my body, I will always be there for her.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Stop being a selfish bastard.”

Greagoir continued to rub Elynna’s back, eyes softening as he studied her. Mentally he conceded that Irving might be right. Losing Rhys had been so difficult for him, and he’d lost Wynne as a consequence. For over a decade all he had were his petty arguments with Irving, and then he suddenly had a daughter. He wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers, like his son had. He needed her perhaps more than she needed him. It wouldn’t be much longer before his dependency emotionally crippled her.

“Fine. Go to Kirkwall.”

Irving looked at Greagoir and sighed. He was a stubborn old fool, but at least he’d listen to reason. He loved the girl as well, but knew she couldn’t stay a child forever, whereas Greagoir seemed to cling to that. Irving gently shook Elynna’s shoulder, trying to rouse her. As she groggily sat up, Irving kissed her forehead, bidding her goodnight, Elynna’s lessons forgotten. Immediately Greagoir pulled her close and they settled amidst the blankets and pillows, falling asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinloch Hold 9:28 Dragon

Greagoir sighed as he made his way through the library. Every so often the Knight Commander felt compelled to do patrol, if only to check on the rank and file Templars and remind the mages that he was far more than an administrator. Library patrol was the only thing available for today, and today was the only day he could reasonably do a patrol. There was quite possibly nothing worse than library patrol, however. There were far too many secluded nooks which lovers liked to take advantage of, and spending the day breaking up coupling mages and Templars was uncomfortable at best. What was worse is that Greagoir couldn’t even reasonably pretend he didn’t know about those alcoves, having defiled many of them himself with a young and eager Wynne so many years ago. It wasn’t even noon yet and he’d already dealt with two apprentices, a junior enchanter taking advantage of his young apprentice, one of his own knight lieutenants and the elf mage he’d been infatuated with for years, and two rather elderly male enchanters. While the incident with the master abusing his apprentice was fairly serious and would need to be dealt with at length, Greagoir just wished the other parties he’d caught in flagrante delicto could have taken advantage of more private options for their trysts. Particularly Hadley. Learning that Leorah was that flexible was a bit much for him this early in the morning.

Hoping that word had spread that the Knight Commander was cracking down on public sex, Greagoir began to wander the more open areas, looking in on the collection of mages, young and old, using the library for its intended purpose. Scattered here and there in plain grey tunics were off-duty Templars, reading quietly amongst the mages. The sight pleased Greagoir; his suggestions that the Templars spend less time in the barracks during their off-hours was helping in his vision of resocializing the Templars and mages. Off in the corner, however, was a sight that had him more visibly smiling.

Seated in a corner, brow furrowed in intense concentration, Elynna seemed to be hard at work on her studies. As he approached, Elynna looked up and somewhat sheepishly tried to hide the book she was looking at under the pile of volumes to her left.

“Oh, well that wasn’t at all suspicious. Sweetling, I’d be less interested in the book if you had just left it alone.” Elynna blushed as Greagoir fished out the volume from the stacks. The Noble Families of Kirkwall To the Year of Our Maker 9:10.

Greagoir sighed. Following their talk, this had been inevitable. Part of him still wished he hadn’t said anything. She had never been openly curious before, which was fine with him. Her lack of memory prior to her coming to the tower had just made her more his child. 

“I was just…” Elynna wasn’t make eye contact and was mumbling.

Greagoir sat next to her and felt guilty; she herself clearly felt badly, though she had done nothing wrong. He smiled at her and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “So, what have you found?”

Elynna looked up and blinked at him, carefully trying to read the templar’s expression. She took the book back from him and flipped through, clearly familiar with the contents. When she landed on a page emblazoned with a pair of doves respectant, done in the stylized heraldry form common to the Free Marches, she stopped.

“I started here, with the founding of House Amell. The first of the house was Olivier Amell, one of the Orlesian generals tasked with liberating Kirkwall from the Qunari. He was one of Viscount Michel Lafaille’s ministers, though he died by 7:67, well before Lafaille. His son Yves married a daughter of House Abeln, one of Kirkwall’s older noble houses. The Abeln line wouldn’t survive beyond her generation due to the reconquest and reconversion process.”

Elynna paused, biting her lip before continuing, “Yves had six children, two of whom died in childhood, and another as a young man. The surviving daughter married Lafaille’s grandson and would become Viscountess. Of the two sons who survived… House Amell as it is is descended from the younger one, Terrin…. The elder son, Jehan, was found to have magic and was sent to the Gallows.”

She picked up another book, emblazoned with the symbol of the Circle of Magi on the cover. As she flipped through the book effortlessly, finding what she needed immediately, Greagoir realized Elynna had clearly been at this for some time.

“First Enchanter Olera’s history of The Gallows notes that Jehan rose to the position of Senior Enchanter. He was primarily skilled with creation magic and ran the infirmary at The Gallows for a number of years.”

She turned back to the other book, picking up where she had left off, “The Amells nonetheless remained incredibly powerful, even after the rebellion that overthrew Orlesian rule. In fact, Gared Amell became Viscount in 8:19, the second of the native viscounts. However, he apparently openly courted fate—his only son was to succeed him, though no one quite knew who the son’s mother was, and Gared refused to marry… Two years into Aledrin’s rule, his daughter was discovered to have magic and when she was sent to the circle it was revealed that Aledrin’s mother was in fact, the court mage who had served Gared. Incensed that the Amell family were potentially puppets of the Circle of Magi, the people forcibly removed Aledrin from the throne… It took the better part of the Blessed Age to restore the Amell name, fortune and power. Aristide Amell was considered to have accomplished this goal.” Elynna looked into the distance for a moment then looked sadly to her father.

“When I read that, I began to remember… Just bits and pieces. I can’t entirely be certain that my mind hasn’t constructed it, either. Father said that can sometimes happen with early memories; what we think we know is often just purely fiction… But Uncle Aristide, I think I remember him. He was serious and only really smiled when Aunt Leandra or Grandfather were around. I remember always being vaguely scared of Uncle Aristide, but after my magic emerged… That’s what I most strongly remember. How harsh he was and how much he yelled. I wasn’t certain what I did wrong… Then there was the branding and so much pain… I kept cryng, wanting mother or Daylen or Garren, but no one came…. No… That’s not true. Father… Carolus… came. And then I was at the Tower.”

Elynna angrily fought back tears, continuing, “The book was published the year I was born, and I’m listed as the youngest member of the house, so I suppose I will learn more only in Kirkwall itself. I had hoped to prepare myself, but it seems as though I will need to go into this blind.”

“You don’t know how much I wish I could go with you, child. But Irving will be there every step of the way and sometimes that old coot is more protective of you than I am, I swear.” Greagoir smiled at her and cupped her cheek in his hand. She moved to hug him and he enfolded her in a tight bear hug, kissing the top of her head.

Elynna moved away from him after a moment, moving to grab another book. “I admit, while I’m tempted to hate the man my mother married, I was still curious about his side of the family… The Amell family pedigree noted that he—Carolus—was a Trevelyan—”

Greagoir started at that, “Trevelyan? Are you certain? The Ostwick Trevelyans?”

Elynna looked at him quizzically, “Yes… He was more or less the most minor member of the house when he married my mother, but according to this book,” she gestured at the tome she was currently holding, “he was born in Ostwick as a member of that family. Why, father, is something wrong?”

The Knight Commander felt ill. No matter that he was a Fereldan Templar, everyone in the Order from Hossberg to Val Royeaux knew the penchant of certain noble families for sending their sons and daughters into the order. The Trevelyans were amongst the most notable. That Carolus had not swooped down in retribution for that day at Lake Calenhad was a miracle. Yet to do so would have been to admit that he had been bested by an old man, and that he had beaten a little girl near to death. Nonetheless, Elynna’s planned return to Kirkwall may tear open old wounds. The Trevelyan family had not produced a mage in untold generations, a rare thing among Templar families… It was thought that the prolonged lyrium exposure tended to result in Mage children in higher frequencies in Templar families. Then again, the Trevelyan Templars never married, as a way of concentrating the family’s resources more greatly within the main branch… Greagoir made a mental note to ask about the latest news from Ostwick next time he was in Denerim.

“The Trevelyans… They’re very strongly affiliated with the Templar Order is all.”

“Alright…” Elynna looked at him skeptically and continued, “That’s fairly clear from the notes in here. Each generation seems to send younger sons and daughters to the Chantry… There are many, many Templars, brothers, sisters and Revered Mothers… The dates of initiation and when each took their vows are noted almost assiduously as the details of the lords and their heirs. While the Trevelyans served as Teyrns of Ostwick twice, within the last few Ages they have mainly been a fairly strong noble family in a relatively minor Free Marcher city…. They do seem to have a strong marital alliance over generations to the Vaels of Starkhaven though. There’s even a marriage to a Cousland in here… Hmmm… Actually that Cousland was the last Lady Trevelyan I’m descended from… Anna Cousland of Highever, who wedded Amery Trevelyan, lord of the house. They had four children, the eldest, Corwin married a Vael and their descendants are still the Trevelyan Banns. The second son, Gerold, is my ancestor. He married a daughter of a very minor branch of the Van Markhams of Nevarra. They had three children, the eldest died in childhood; my grandfather James was the second born. He married a Darnton of Kirkwall…”

Elynna paused looking closely, “It appears Carolus has three sisters. The eldest and the third sister both joined the Chantry… The eldest… My aunt… Elodie is the Revered Mother of Starkhaven’s Cathedral. Danae, the third sister serves as a Sister there as well. The second sister, Mira, became a Templar and is also apparently attached to the Starkhaven garrison. And…”

Elynna frowned and flipped to the back of the tome, looking for the scribal colophon. She found it and sighed. “The book was written in 9:25 and is up to date… While there is no information on my brothers or mother, as they are considered Amells, it seems that my parents had their marriage annulled by 9:13. While I worry about what that meant for my brothers, I suppose Carolus simply couldn’t live with having a mage for a child. Carolus became a Templar and serves at Starkhaven as well… Though with the annulment, the fact that I was formally disowned by House Amell and the small problem of my being a mage, I think it’s safe to say that few people would say I could make any claim to actually being Carolus and Revka’s daughter.”

Emotions warred on her face, but finally a broad smile broke out, “Luckily, I found two wonderfully crochety old men to raise me. And Aunt Wynne of course. The Circle has always been my home, my family, but it’s somehow more real now… Oh! And I suppose this information truly does make my adoption legal... At least, under Fereldan law.”

Greagoir reached out and squeezed her right shoulder while embracing her. “Child, legal or not, you’re mine. And Irving’s I suppose.” Greagoir punctuated this with a kiss on her cheek, then stood and mock-reprimanded her.

“Look at this, distracting the Knight Commander from his duties! Young miss, I expect to see you in my quarters at noon-meal for this offense.” Greagoir winked at her before returning to rooting mages out of unlikely niches in the library.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highever and Kirkwall, 9:28 Dragon

Irving knew this trip would be slightly traumatizing for his young charge, but to perhaps better appreciate the tower, he knew this was necessary; somewhat selfishly he also wanted to enjoy the time travelling with his daughter before her Harrowing, before she left her childhood behind for good.

For all her supposed worldliness, Elynna was terribly clueless about the world at large. Learning about money was particularly confusing for her; barter seemed to be ever so much more efficient to the young mage. Irving kept a close watch on the girl with the pretense that it was in fact the other way around: a bright young trader keeping an eye on her elderly father. Reaching Highever almost made Irving turn back; Elynna enjoyed the wilds but the concept of a city was difficult for her to process. While the Couslands were friendly towards Kinloch Hold, Irving wanted Elynna’s first experience with the nobility to be in Kirkwall, to dispel any sort of romantic notions she had about the class she came from. Besides, he thought ruefully, Aedan Cousland was of an age with Elynna, which she would no doubt find fascinating; he equally had no doubts that Teyrna Eleanor would most certainly not find such a thing fascinating. 

Elynna and he took a room at a modest inn. Irving immediately cursed himself when they sat in the common room: while the tranquil made fine ales and mead, apprentices were strictly kept on water to prevent magical accidents. However, the rest of Fereldan generally didn’t drink water due to sickness. Irving sighed and ordered them two pints of ale, praying to the Maker that Elynna wasn’t going to do anything foolish. The impish grin she gave him upon receiving her ale did little to assuage his slight misgivings. She tempered that with her constant wide-eyed glances at everything in sight and the uncertain smile she gave Irving. The First Enchanter chuckled at her and winced at the flavor of the ale as he sipped it. He glanced towards the door as it opened and admitted two men, one a young redhead and the other an older man in his fifties. Irving frowned and did a double-take. Well it seemed that the Teyrn and his son were visiting the inn, covertly as well. Irving slipped back his hood and beckoned the Teyrn to their table. Elynna frowned, and turned around.

Predictably upon noting who Irving was signaling, she shot a smile at the boy. The Teyrn’s son winked at her and Bryce grinned.

“First Enchanter, it’s a pleasure to see you again, though what you’re doing in an inn in Highever with such a lovely companion is quite beyond me.”

“Father, I like them,” Elynna commented glancing at Aedan Cousland again.

“Well, well, well. Irving I had no idea you had a daughter, or that she would be so… young.” Bryce Cousland was clearly having fun attempting to dig into Irving’s past. Irving smirked at the Teyrn as he and Aedan sat.

“Elynna, while certainly a credit to me, is alas not my natural daughter,” Irving hesitated, and sighed, “She’s the mage child that was born to Revka Amell of Kirkwall.”

Elynna and Aedan had ceased to pay attention to their elders teasing and were outrageously flirting. “Father, may I show Elynna Highever?” Aedan asked with the air of mere formality.

Bryce turned from Irving and frowned at his son, “Aedan, that completely ruins our day of debauchery… Your mother will have my guts for garters, and we’ll have nothing to show for it.”

“Well it ruins your day of debauchery… Mine is still on schedule,” Aedan said with a wicked grin at Elynna, which ceased when he saw the stormcloud brewing on Irving’s face, “Ah… Tell her you had to meet with the First Enchanter: now it’s technically true.”

“Fine. Just keep in mind that her father can turn you into a toad,” Aedan blinked at Bryce’s statement and led Elynna out into the city.

“You can turn him into a toad right? I’ve never been all that certain about that saying…” Bryce mused.

“Certainly. I’ll get far more creative than that depending on what he gets up to with her, though.” Bryce coughed indelicately at that and began to discuss Irving’s ward, as well as the political maelstrom they were headed into in Kirkwall.

***

“Can the First Enchanter really turn me into a toad?” Aedan asked somewhat apprehensively.

“No, forced shapeshifting isn’t something that’s possible. I think. Hmmm…” Elynna looked contemplative, making Aedan more nervous.

“ Well, I’m just going to stay on your father’s good side, just in case.” Aedan added, though he cursed himself when he saw the pout developing on Elynna’s face as he realized she was the sort who was as likely to go after him as he would her. The First Enchanter had clearly sucked a great deal of fun out of the day.

***

The long voyage across the Waking Sea ended ominously. A white fortress rose out of the black cliffs, adorned with large, bronze statues of suffering slaves. As they neared, Irving protectively put his arms about Elynna’s shoulders trying to impart some comfort to the girl. The gesture had just the opposite effect. Elynna felt chilled to the core and wondered what had made her father so nervous. Perhaps it was in her head, and the silence was lending anxiety to her imagination.

Elynna turned her head to face her father and cheerfully began, “Well, at least they seem to be trying to reconcile with their past.” She pointed at the eerie statues.

Irving looked a bit sick, “Child… those statues were put in place by the Tevinter magisters. They were made to emphasize the suffering that goes on at that cruel place. It’s not a memorial to the slave trade.”

Elynna looked a bit uncertain, “What is the fortress used for now? Surely they could take those things down, now… Slavery is outlawed in the Free Marches…”

“The men and women who dwell there now labor under a different set of masters, a different set of chains. Ones you and I wear as well.”

Elynna gaped. Surely that could not be… “They keep the mages there? In that?”

“That is The Gallows. Appropriately named, for what we will find there. Child, you have certainly been sheltered, to be raised at the Hold… We will need to go to the fortress, as mages cannot enter another Circle’s territory without alerting their First Enchanter. While we are there, for the love of Andraste and the Maker, do not stray from my side. The protection of my rank will extend to you, but should you be on your own… A young girl alone and in an unfamiliar place is an easy target, for mage and Templar both.”

Irving’s words frightened Elynna all the more. He read the stress in her eyes and brought a gnarled hand up to her face, “We’ll be fine, Child. We shouldn’t be spending all that much time at the fortress, anyways.”

Elynna felt very small and very young as she stepped off the ship. She walked arm and arm with Irving, seeming to shrink in the shadow of the First Enchanter. For his part, Irving was no longer playing the part of the jovial old man. He held himself erect and had a steely glint in his eye that dared those around him to question his right to be in this place. He looked every inch the most powerful mage at Kinloch Hold. Elynna began to take her lead from her father: she was soon gracefully accompanying him, rather than clinging, as they walked to The Gallows. Elynna trusted him implicitly, not knowing what to do in this place.

At the door to the fortress a Templar accompanied Elynna and Irving to First Enchanter Orsino’s study. As with Kinloch Hold, the First Enchanter’s study was adjacent to the Knight-Commander’s. Thus Elynna came face to face with Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. Elynna had never met a female Templar, and she wondered about the lack at Kinloch Hold. Elynna looked into the woman’s ice blue eyes and instinctively stepped aside. The Knight-Commander studied her and Irving with narrowed eyes, and then stalked off. Elynna noticed the mages in the corridor also shrank to the sides of the hall to avoid her. She turned back to Irving and saw him frowning at Meredith, worry in his eyes. He shook it off and waved Elynna into Orsino’s study ahead of him.

Elynna waited for Irving and Orsino to be seated before she sat down next to her father. Orsino, a relatively young First Enchanter, was an elf with graying hair and green eyes. Elynna estimated that he was forty, but clearly the stresses of his position weighed heavily upon him, aging him substantially as it had Irving. Orsino had laced his fingers in front of him on his desk. He was only paying scant attention to Irving, so intent on studying Elynna was he. Irving coughed politely and the two began to speak of social niceties. Soon they came to the reason for the Fereldan mages’ visit to Kirkwall.

“Irving, while I am glad to see another First Enchanter in Kirkwall, I cannot help but wonder at your decision to come, and with your young pupil. The Templars have been particularly zealous these last few years, and it has become dangerous to be a mage within this Circle.”

“Orsino, every last one of us remembers the day we were torn from our families. Many of us were bodily cast out, some were homeless already, others were forgotten completely by their families. It forms part of our identities as mages, and has been something to tie us to the Circle, to remember that the world beyond wants nothing to do with us. It is a source of strength for us when we are Harrowed, and reminds us why we need to return home when we leave the Circle.” Irving paused and looked at Elynna. “For good or ill, this child has not remembered her experience. Her father abandoned her to the Tower when she was two years of age. The rarity of showing magical signs so young has caused a great many conventions to be bent or broken for her. I truly raised this child, Orsino, and her family now consists of the mages and the Templars of Kinloch Hold.”

“Yet because she lacks the memory, having that strong a sense of community among the mages has not been tempered by tragedy. I am here to force Elynna to look into the maelstrom here in Kirkwall, to see what life might have held for her if she wasn’t raised by the Tower. We all have had that chance, that fortunate misfortune. It is her time.”

Orsino closed his eyes. Irving was clearly a skilled First Enchanter and devoted to the girl, if he knew he must put her through an engineered hell in order to temper her fire. And she trusted him, still knowing what is to come. But her story troubled him. “Girl, your name is Elynna?” he said as his eyes snapped open.

“Yes, sir. I am told I was a member of House Amell here in Kirkwall.”

Orsino sighed. He had hoped that was not the case. “I have some news of your family since you left Kirkwall, things that may have not have been heard over the Waking Sea. Specifically about your brothers.”

Her brothers. One had been much older than she and would often make her laugh, or give her piggyback rides. The other was closer in age and was a favorite playmate, so long ago. She remembered. “Daylen and Garren.”

“Yes. Well, it appears that not long after your father took you to Fereldan to attempt to save the House, your brothers showed talent as well.”

Elynna looked shocked, then hopeful. If her brothers were mages…

Orsino shook his head, “Garren was sent to Montsimmard… As the ship crossed the Waking Sea… The Templar with him reported that the boy was swept overboard. I have my own suspicions on that matter, but he was never found.”

Elynna was flooded with emotion. Garren had been five years old when she was taken to Fereldan. If what Orsino insinuated was true, a Templar had murdered a five year old boy, likely just for being a mage. She sat numbly, still wondering about Daylen.

“Your eldest brother… He was assigned to The Gallows. Daylen… Had been a very promising young mage. I was hoping to groom him for the position of First Enchanter, as he had a good head for administration and politics. However, he began to make some questionable choices. I’m certain that the fraternity choice is simple politics in Fereldan. Here, it can mean your life to step over the line past being an Aequitarian. Daylen was a young idealist and was a moderate Libertarian. I believe he wanted to reform the Templar role to be roughly on par with the way Kinloch Hold currently conducts itself. He was no extremist. I had thought that the Knight-Commander had not heard of Daylen’s loyalties amongst the fraternities. Yet two years ago… Knight-Commander Meredith brought charges of blood magic against your brother. He was arrested… and tortured until he confessed. Meredith had him made Tranquil.”

Orsino looked down at his desk, tired so tired after having to relive those horrifying days when the young mage he’d known had had his fire forcibly extinguished. Seeing that vacant stare was a daily reminder of the limits of his authority in The Gallows. He sighed and looked into Elynna’s face and above the tear stains and her brands saw her brother’s green eyes, full of fight and frustration staring back at him. Two years and his heart was still raw. Daylen Amell was the sort of man who could have changed the world, whose presence was infectious. For ten years Orsino had helped the boy fight his rage at the family that nearly abandoned him; unexpectedly, the black sheep of the Amell family, Damion and Gamlen regularly visited… Though Orsino often wished that Daylen hadn’t been so close to Damion, after what happened… Nonetheless, Daylen emerged from his Harrowing fully able to put his family woes behind him, though he still tried to talk some sense into Gamlen from time to time. That those talks took place in the Blooming Rose usually mitigated the intention, Orsino had thought… That aside, Daylen had taken on a young girl, Elsa, as his first apprentice the year prior to his being made tranquil. She was such a timid child, but trusted Daylen entirely… Orsino had taken her on after the Rite, but she had only gotten worse, especially seeing Daylen that way regularly. The elf mage shook himself out of his reverie and looked back to the sobbing girl.

Elynna sat numbly in the silence, not noticing Orsino’s faraway look or Irving’s concern. She rose, thinking to get some air outside Orsino’s study. She felt Irving’s hand on her arm; he shook his head and motioned for her to be seated. Orsino watched her and soon continued.

“Child, I wish that were the extent of the woes of your house. But you need to know it all before you leave this fortress… The Amells… Had a very public demise. Many people had fortunes tied to the rising star of House Amell, and so many blame you specifically for the chain of events that followed.”

“Not long after you and your brothers were taken by the Circle, your Aunt Leandra ran away… She broke off her engagement with the Comte de Launcet to marry the Fereldan apostate mage, Malcolm Hawke. She was pregnant with his child as well… The house was still quite broken up at losing your entire generation; Lord Aristide could not bring himself to disown his favored daughter, his heir. She is somewhere in Fereldan, I believe. Your Uncle Gamlen may know something about it, if you were to ask him.”

Orsino continued, “Only a scant two years after that debacle, your Uncle Damion was brought up on charges of lyrium smuggling. Your grandfather, Lord Fausten, bankrupted your branch of the family to get the charges dropped. Lord Fausten and Lady Sabine died of cholera not long after… Damion was foolish, however and tried to restore the house fortune by resuming his role in lyrium smuggling. In 9:16 He was caught yet again and Knight Commander Guylian and Viscount Threnhold jointly ordered his execution.” Orsino paushed and clenched his first reflexively before continuing.

“The Knight Commander required that both your Uncle Gamlen and your brother be present for Damion’s execution… Daylen was fourteen…. I… I know this detail seems needlessly painful to tell you about, but it affected Daylen so deeply. And now that sort of detail won’t occur to him. I wish you could have known the man he truly was.”

Elynna looked sick, so Orsino hurriedly changed focus from her branch of the family to the elder line.“The senior branch of the house did not fare any better. Lord Aristide and Lady Dagmar died in that same cholera epidemic. Gamlen is Lord over the House, such as it is… He has proved to be something of a wastrel, though, and the fortunes of House Amell are now well and truly gone. He lives in Lowtown now, in the Old City slums, I believe…. He married a commoner woman a few years back, though she left him. Damion and Gamlen used to visit your brother, though since the Rite, Gamlen has largely avoided the Gallows.”

“And my parents? You have not mentioned them. I know they annulled their marriage and my father is a Templar, but little other than that.”

“Yes, the revelation that all three of you were mages had Bann Trevelyan pressuring your father for the annulment. Your father barely had a farthing to his name before his marriage to Revka, so he was loathe to get rid of the golden goose as it were, though it’s well known that he was a patron of the Blooming Rose and frequently left his marital bed cold. Once Leandra’s elopement with the apostate came out, on top of the three of you being mage-blooded, Lord Roderic Trevelyan practically had an aneurism and Carolus was told in no uncertain terms that he was to annul within the year and rejoin the Templars. Aristide was more than willing to allow this, over Fausten’s protests, to spare House Amell further embarrassment with the Trevelyans. Of her own volition, borne out of shame they say, Revka became a sister of the Chantry here in Kirkwall… She did not come to see Daylen even once during his apprenticeship, and the single meeting Daylen had with her after his Harrowing leads me to believe you may be better off leaving your mother alone.”

Orsino rose and reached for his staff, an intricate blackthorn piece with three dragon heads. Elynna had heard of the Staff of Violation, once First Enchanter Casimira’s personal staff, but seeing it in person was eerie; its name and design almost begged for those blood mage rumors attached to Casimira to be proven true. The elven mage looked far more haggard and aged than when she had first entered his study, she noted as the sunlight shone through the window onto his features. Behind Elynna she heard Irving rising and she too stood, reaching for her father as she did. These revelations were still threatening to overwhelm her.

Irving looped an arm around her waist, drawing her close. Elynna leaned on his shoulder as Orsino addressed them, “Now. This… may be difficult, but I do ask that you see Daylen… He had wanted to seek you out so badly, I would feel remiss if I didn’t implore you to see him, regardless of his state. He was a good man, truly extraordinary. Please.”

A pained expression marred Elynna’s features, her eyes distant, “Yes, of course, First Enchanter. Please, take me to him.”

Orsino led them out into the main hall. Irving removed his arm from Elynna, though she quickly reached out to him. He grit his teeth: here of all places he needed the two of them to exude power and authority, but he couldn’t heartlessly let her suffer after so much had been thrust on her slender shoulders. Sighing he put a hand on her shoulder as they walked, allowing just that much contact, knowing that if he gave her enough slack she’d would be clinging to him in truth. The look she gave him cut him to his soul, as she looked about to collapse into tears at any moment, yet he held firm. Their path wound through The Gallows from Templar Hall into the lower mages’ quarters. Adjoining the Tranquil dormitory Orsino brought them into a workshop where tranquil labored over enchanted items. The room was deathly quiet, the sounds of singleminded work being the only thing that punctuated the oppressive silence.

Gesturing to a bench on the side, Orsino bade Irving and Elynna to sit while he went down the rows of workbenches, before he addressed a young man.  
The same dark brown locks, the same green eyes. An intricate blue mage brand over and under one eye. There was no mistaking Daylen Amell for anything other than Elynna’s elder brother. Irving looked sadly at the boy. He was incredibly handsome, with masculine, chiseled features and a thick, dark beard. He was tall, broad-shouldered though also pale from lack of time in the sun. If his personality had been even a third of what Orsino described, the young man could easily been the sort of charismatic leader that people would have followed blindly and happily into battle. But it was all soured by that dead look in his eyes, the monotone in his voice and the second tattoo on his forehead: the chantry sunburst, sign of a tranquil mage.

Elynna gasped and stood, shaking and crying. Irving stood back, though he desperately wanted to comfort her. But now was not his place to do so.

“Dayl… Dayl… It’s ‘Lynna. Your little ‘Lynna. Big brother, I’m here,” she embraced him, weeping into his chest.

Daylen blinked and spoke in the awful, clinical monotone, a sign of his condition that increasingly grated on Elynna’s soul, “Elynna. I remember you. The Rite does not remove memories. You were smaller.” He still made no move to return his sister’s embrace.

“Before the rite I had planned to look for you. They said you were in Ferelden. You are making my robe very moist, I would like you to refrain from doing that,” Daylen blinked, no longer able to comprehend his sister’s pain. Elynna slowly let go of him backing away.

“Dayl. I know you’re in there somewhere. The real you. I’ll pledge my life to finding a way to reverse the Rite… I’ll save you brother.” Irving and Orsino cast panicked glances around for Templars at Elynna’s statement, thanking the maker that the tranquil were so implicitly trusted that they were left unguarded.

Irving beckoned her over and held her close as he ushered her away from Daylen. “Maker, I know your hurting child, but you cannot say things like that. Not here.”

Elynna turned to Irving, fury warring with grief in her expression, “Father, I don’t care. What they did to him… You and father would never allow that sort of thing to happen at Kinloch Hold. It’s wrong. Father always says it’s our duty to right the wrongs in the world in the name of the Maker. Well, this is one of them.”

“Hush Elynna. You are right to be angry, but not here. We’re in the belly of the beast and a wrong move will see both you and I end up like Daylen. We can discuss this further later,” he said, seeing Orsino catch up with them. Seeing his former apprentice was always difficult for the First Enchanter and he had attempted a better farewell than Daylen’s overwrought sister had mustered for the lad.

The First Enchanter led them back to Templar Hall, just outside his office. “Elynna, I am sorry. Truly, sorrier than you will ever know. Daylen deserved better… While your time here was clearly not meant to be for leisure, I regret that you need to bear the weight of all of this at once. Should… Should you wish to discuss your brother, or your Uncle Damion, I will leave instructions for the Templars that you have free access to me and my study at all reasonable hours. Maker guide your steps child.” Orsino’s tone indicated that the meeting was at an end. Irving and Elynna stood and made ready to leave; Irving waived away Orsino’s offer at rooms at the Gallows; they would find something in town instead.

Leaving the Gallows the pair of mages chanced upon meeting the Knight Commander again, now in the courtyard.

“Elynna, don’t. Just don’t. Greagoir is a stuffed toy compared to Meredith… And we’re surrounded by Templars in this courtyard if you haven’t noticed…” Irving spoke through his teeth, politely smiling at the Templars, who watched their progress like lions lounging in the sun who have spotted prey. He tightened his grip on his daughter’s arm to emphasize his point.

Elynna felt a building rage, but long years in the Tower had taught her to control her emotions, so she presented a cool face to the Templars. Yet years of conditioning couldn’t contain the hate-filled glare she sent to the Knight Commander. Unfortunately, her slip called the woman’s attention to them.

“You are the First Enchanter of Fereldan, old man? What is your business in Kirkwall?” Elynna wanted to strike Meredith for her disrespect to Irving, but continued to silently glare.

“Knight Commander Meredith, I presume? I’m sorry I’ve never had the pleasure—I met your predecessor at the last conclave of the College of Magi. Guylian was a good man… Friends with our own Knight Commander Greagoir.” Irving played up the harmless old man act with pleasantries, hoping to blunt the Commander’s interest in them, particularly in Elynna.

“Guylian was a fool, but no Templar deserves to die like he did. He was too lax with the mages… And your presence in Kirkwall suggests that Greagoir is more of a fool. The rumors I have heard of his command… Are disturbing to say the least.” Meredith’s eyes narrowed as she studied Irving and Elynna, “You have not answered my question, mage. What is your business in Kirkwall?”

“I have simply brought my apprentice—“

“An apprentice? Outside of the Circle?” Meredith looked like she wanted to drag Elynna into the Gallows. She frowned, grabbing Elynna’s chin, brushing back the cloth of her mage hood to reveal her bright blue tattoos.

“You. The Amell we had sent to Fereldan… The child who caused the fall of the house…” The Knight Commander was studying Elynna like a hawk. Irving kept a firm grip on his daughter, fearing that the Templar would do something rash, like conscripting Elynna to the Kirkwall Circle. It would be nigh impossible for Fereldan to try to reclaim her, and would bring the attention of the Divine, Knight Vigilant and Grand Enchanter if two Circles were fighting over a mere apprentice. Apparently the confrontation had drawn the attention of some mage, as First Enchanter Orsino strode towards them, accompanied by several Senior Enchanters.

The Templars surrounding the courtyard ceased their gossip, hands going to swords, but not drawing them. Orsino broke the tense silence. “Knight Commander, the First Enchanter has the permission of the Fereldan Grand Cleric to be here. It is necessary for the apprentice to get a sense of the life she left behind before she undergoes the Harrowing. Leave them be.”

Surprisingly Meredith acquiesced. Elynna suspected that the give and take between First Enchanter and Knight Commander here in Kirkwall was a fair bit more dramatic than the amicable arguments between her fathers… For Meredith to fight Orsino on an issue that had a Grand Cleric’s approval would be ridiculous. Elynna could feel Irving relax as he nodded to Orsino. Soon the Templars resumed their gossip, now often pointing at Elynna and Irving as Meredith and Orsino returned to the Gallows and the two Fereldan mages left.

***

Irving walked briskly, trying to put some distance between them and the Gallows. As they walked Elynna marveled at the city even in her sorrow. Even Lowtown seemed to be of much better construction than Highever, of anything in Ferelden. Everything was stone, with Hightown and the Gallows a gleaming white, easily putting Fereldan architecture with its mud and wattle, thatch and dark timbers to shame. Only the Tower seemed to rival it, but even so it lacked a great deal of the airiness that seemed present in Hightown. The city seemed so well planned, with a great many open squares instead of squalid alleyways. Even the warren that was Lowtown had a certain logic to it, though the Tevinter magisters had intentionally made their slave quarters difficult to navigate.

Soon they had found an inn, The Black Dragon, which seemed to be filled with middling merchants and halfway respectable folk, for all that it was in Lowtown. Irving procured them a room as well as a meal. Now deciding that she was familiar enough with ale, Elynna found she liked the variety served here far more than the swill she’d pretended to like in Highever. Irving still grimaced and lamented that it wasn’t the sort that the tranquil made.

“Well, I’m sure the Kirkwall tranquil make their own here as well… Perhaps we should see about the Knight Commander’s legendary hospitality, father?” Elynna’s voice dripped sarcasm

“Hush child. The Templars have eyes and ears throughout this city: outside of Val Royeaux, Kirkwall is the most Chantry-centric city in Thedas… The Knight Commander rules here, not the Viscount. Eat your stew.”

Elynna frowned at Irving, irritated that he continued to treat her like she was a child. After looking around for what she considered a respectably rebellious amount of time, Elynna tucked into the fish stew, finding it surprisingly good. Irving rolled his eyes at her, wishing that she’d stop acting like she knew everything. Her attempts to act like an adult just resulted in her looking childish, and not in the endearing manner she used to have. He sighed and clasped her free hand, and felt reassured when she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Perhaps she wasn’t completely gone in her moodiness after all.

They soon finished and paid the waitress, making their way to the second floor and their room. Elynna flopped backwards onto the bed, yawning. Irving took stock of the room, noting that it seemed clean and that there was a wash basin, which was certainly a step up from the places they had stayed thus far. He set his staff next to the bed and began to root through his pack, setting out a pair of breeches and a slightly stained brown tunic for tomorrow. He prodded Elynna to do the same, commenting that they likely wouldn’t need their mage robes until they were at Lake Calenhad again. Elynna chose her green tunic, a rather finely crafted velvet thing that Greagoir had had made for her. It was long sleeved, fitted, had a high collar that was worked with gold thread and it also perfectly set off her emerald eyes: modest and feminine, it was a fitting look for the daughter of the Knight Commander. Elynna carefully laid her gold sunburst necklace on top of it, yet another gift from her Templar father. Irving sighed.

“Child, I know you wish that Greagoir could have come, but it’s really for the best. Besides, is it truly so bad to spend alone time with me?”

Elynna could hear the hurt Irving masked in his voice. She hadn’t realized she had been so obvious about missing the big Templar, but she now felt guilty. Sitting up Elynna hugged her father, curling up against him.

“No father, not at all. If it were me and him, I’d be missing you terribly. I just like it when it’s the three of us.” Elynna paused and kissed Irving’s cheek, “I love you father.”

“It’s good to hear. Child, you have no idea how much I love you. No matter what you learn here, remember that.” Irving held her and kissed her on the top of her head. He then somewhat regretfully let her go to continue getting things ready for tomorrow. Satisfied that he was done, Irving pulled off his robe, changed into a nightshirt and got into bed.

Elynna had unbound her hair from the bun and was brushing the long strands. She used it to partially hide her face as she stifled a giggle. Irving had gone from wise and impressive mage to seedy old man in under a minute. Elynna coughed delicately and Irving turned his back as she pulled off her own robes and pulled on a night chemise. She yawned and joined her father in bed.

“Where do you want to start tomorrow, child? Your mother is at the Chantry, and your uncle can apparently be found at The Hanged Man… You may not wish to speak with both in the same day.”

“Gamlen. Definitely Gamlen first.” Elynna curled up against Irving, and he held her.

“Elynna… I apologize for earlier, but one of us needed to be thinking clearly. I wanted more than anything than to hug you and try to make everything alright, but showing weakness, or giving into your anger as you did, were threatening to undermine us. That confrontation with the Knight Commander could have easily resulted with you becoming a Gallows apprentice, I hope you realize that.”


End file.
